L 


^B 


a 


Cre^j^.tfllfuiiCT 


POEMS, 


BY 


WffilsSJUU  1*  S,ib»»^lfJ« 


go,  dream  of  bt-past  hours: 
\s  retrospect,  oxce  more, 
Pluck  fancy's  gayest  flowers, 

AlCD  REVEL  IN  THT  STORE. 


PHILADELPHIA: 

PUBLISHED  BY  JAMES    CRISSY, 

No.  177,  Chestnut  Street. 

1822. 


Eastern  Disteict  or  Pfn^stlvanta,  to  wit: 

v.*********** 

IJiUOl    BE  IT  UEMEMBE,iF  D»  that  on  the  thirtieth  day  of 

|<«J[SJ!  January,  in  the  forty-sixth  year  of  the  Independence 

3**^******»  of  the  United  States  of  America,  A.  U.  1822,  .lames 

Crissy,  of  the  said  district,  hath  deposited  in  this  office,  the  title 

of  a  book,  the  right  whereof  he  claims   as  proprietor,  in  the 

words  following,  to  wit: 

Poems,  bt  William  B.  Tappan. 

Go,  dream  of  by-past  hours: 
In  retrospect,  once  more 
Pluck  Fancy's  gayest  flowers, 
And  revel  in  thy  store. 

In  conformity  to  the  Act  of  the  Congress  of  the  United  States, 
intituled  "  An  act  for  the  encouragement  of  learning,  by  securing 
the  copies  of  maps,  charts,  and  books,  to  the  authors  and  propri- 
etors of  such  copies,  during  the  times  therein  mentioned."  And 
also  to  the  act,  entitled  "  An  act,  supplementary  to  an  act,  enti- 
tled *  An  act  for  the  encouragement  of  learning,  by  securing  the 
copies  of  maps,  charts,  and  books,  to  the  authors  and  proprietors 
of  such  copies,  during  the  times  therein  mentioned,'  and  extend- 
ing the  benefits  thereof  to  the  arts  of  designing,  engraving,  and 
etching  historical  and  other  prints." 

D.  CALDWELL, 
Clerk  of  the  Eastern  District  of  Pennsvlrania. 


J.  CRISST  AND  G.  GOODMAN,  PRINTERS. 


TO 


THE  KEY.  DANIEL  DANA,  D.  D. 

OF  HANOVER,  NEW  HAMPSHIRE, 

As  a  slight  acknowledgment  of  much  kind- 
ness  received  from  him  during  boyhood,  and 
of  affectionate  solicitude  for  my  welfare  since, 
this  volume  is  inscribed. 

WILLIAM  BINGHAM  TAPPAN. 


PREFACE. 


This  volume  is  sent  into  the  world  not  without  some 
solicitude.  Its  errors  will  not  experience  the  lenity  from 
criticism,  which  partiality  may  have  exercised.  Yet 
I  indulge  the  hope  that  these  Poems  will  obtain  from  the 
American  public  the  favour  which  they  may  merit; 
more  than  this  I  can  not  desire. 

The  reception  which  a  small  collection  of  poems, 
published  by  me  in  this  city  in  1819,  received,  has  in- 
duced me,  after  a  careful  revision,  to  embody  some  of 
them  in  this  volume,  with  those  of  a  later  date. 

I  am  grateful  to  those  of  my  countrymen  who  have 
noticed  my  former  productions  with  fostering  kindness; 
to  the  British  editors  who  have  bestowed  on  my  earlier 
poems,  that  which  I  confess  to  be  the  object  of  my  am- 
bition, the  meed  of  impartial  praise,  particularly  to  the 
able  conductor  of  an  influential  transatlantic  Review 
I  return  my  warmest  acknowledgments. 
1* 


VI  PREFACE. 

I  feel  confident  that  the  tendency  of  these  pieces  is 
towards  virtue  and  correct  sentiment: — they  will  be 
seen  with  a  few  exceptions  to  be  of  a  cheerful  cast,  cal- 
culated to  sport  in  the  sunshine  of  the  serene  heart,  and 
mingling  with  the  reveries  of  disappointment,  to  fan 
the  latent  spark  of  hope  to  the  broad  and  bright  halo  of 
pleasing  anticipation. 

Philadelphia,  1822. 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE. 

Retrospection, 10 

The  Thorn  of  Life, 13 

Stanzas— "  They  shall  lie  down  alike,"  &c.  15 

To  a  Youthful  Friend,       -------  17 

The  Missionary's  Grave  in  the  Desert,  19 

To  June, 21 

The  Pensioner, 23 

You  ask'd,  I  remember, v  25 

Spirit  of  Song1, -         •  26 

To  James  Montgomery,  of  Sheffield,  England,  -        -  27 

Masonic  Ode, 29 

Massachusetts  Scenery, --31 

To  Alexander  of  Russia,    ----...  33 

Why  should  we  sigh, 35 

When  death  shall  lay, 36 

The  Tuscarora'a  Adieu, 38 

0  thou  that  hath  strayed, 39 

To  the  Holy  Alliance, 40 

1  can  not  but  sigh, 43 

When  the  last  tear, 45 

There  is  an  hour, -..46 

The  Seaman's  Bible, 48 

To  I'eace, 51 

Grave  of  Putnam, -  53 

O  come  from  a  world, 54 

Evening  Hymn,         - --56 

The  Immortal  Mind, 58 

Stanzas, 60 

The  Vision, 62 


V1U 


CONTENTS. 


Africa, 

The  Tomb  of  Jesus, 

On  Visiting- the  Scenes  of  Childhood, 

Pleasure,  ----.--- 

Close  of  the  Week, 

Stanzas  occasioned  by  the  Death  of  Mr-  A T 

Wetp  not, 

Decay  of  Spring, 

I  love  the  blush, 

Eternity, 

Impromptu, 

To  the  Dove, 

Verses  in  Memory  of  Mr.  W.  K.  L.  ... 

Mission  to  Jerusalem, 

Fair  is  the  scene, 

Death  of  St.  Clair,     -         - 

Stanzas — "  To  whom  shall  we  go?"   .... 

The  Jewish  Return, 

Verses  to  an  interesting  Young  Lady,  Deaf  and  Dumb, 

Protecting  Providence, 

Veteran  Tribute, 

Stanzas — "They  that  sow  in  tears  shall  reap  in  joy," 

Winter, 

The  Sunday  School, 

Chilese  Warrior's  Song-, 

"  Thy  will  be  done," 

The  Morning  Star, 

Redemption, 

Stanzas, 


Impromptu,  occasioned  by  the  Death  o 

Why  weepest  thou? 

The  South  American's  Hymn, 

To  the  North  Star, 

Thou  sit'st,  O  God, 

Stanzas — "  Is  it  not  a  little  one," 

Captive  Jewess, 

Soli'ude, 

To  the  Comet,  - 

The  Wreck, 


Henry  Janson 


Esq 


PAGE. 

63 
65 

67 

69 

70 

71 

73 

75 

77 

78 

79 

80 

82 

84 

86 

87 

88 

90 

92 

93 

95 

97 

99 

101 

103 

105 

107 

109 

111 

112 

113 

114 

116 

118 

119 

121 

123 

125 

127 


CONTENTS. 


1\ 


Hymn  to  the  Departed,  - 

'Tis  Midnight,    ------ 

The  Duellist,      ------ 

Immortality,        ------ 

Galilee,  „..-.- 

Stanzas,  .__..- 

The  Hindoo,       ------ 

Lines,  on  viewing1  the  Grave  of  Franklin, 

Filial  Love,         ...... 

Stanzas,  on  viewing  Trumbull's  Painting, 

Star  of  Bethlehem,        -  -  -         ,    - 

The  dark  wave  ot  Erie,  .... 

Stanzas,  ...... 

Lines,  in  Memory  of  W.  Haslett, 

To  the  Spanish  Patriots,  - 

When  darkness,  Lord,  - 

To  an  [nfant,  whose  Mother  died  a  few  hours  after  its  Birth, 

The  Sandwich  Islands,  -  -  -  -  - 

The  Carolinian,  - 

Stanzas  occasioned  by  the  Conflagration  of  the  Orphan  Asy 

lum,  at  Philadelphia,  January  24,  1822,     - 
The  Mysterious  God,     - 
To  Cynthia, 

•  Are  not  my  days  few?" 
My  Native  Village, 
Verses  to  a  Young  Friend,  with 
The  Cross, 
Shall  he  unbar, 
The  Midnight  Dream,   - 
What  do'st  thou  here?   - 
The  Smile  in  Death, 
To  December,    - 

Stanzas  to , 

The  Final  Hour, 

On  viewing  an  ancient  Pear  Tree, 

The  Pirate  Ship, 

Stanzas, 

O  what  is  life,    - 

Ruins  of  Ticonderoga,  - 


a  Pocket  Testament, 


PAOK. 

128 
129 
130 
132 
134 
136 
138 
140 
141 
143 
145 
147 
149 
151 
153 
155 
157 
159 
161 

164 
166 

168 
170 
172 
174 
175 
176 
177 
178 
179 
181 
183 
184 
186 
188 
190 
191 
192 


X  CONTENTS. 

PAGE. 

The  Vigil,  ......  195 

O  ofi  bave  1  wept,         .....  197 

Impromptu,  on  reading  Stanzas  by  Goldsmith,  -  199 

O  who  would  love,         -  -  -  -  -  .  200 

New  England,    ------  201 

Stanzas  to ,  .....  211 

Twilight  Song  of  the  Shepherds  of*  the  Andes,  -  213 

Stanzas,  occasioned  by  the  Launch  of  the  North  Carolina,  215 

To  the  Shade  of  Eaton,  ....  217 

Verses,  occasioned  by  the  Death  of  Mr.  "Westphal  and  Sons,  219 

Stanzas,  ......  221 

O  thou  to  whom  the  fires,  223 

New  Jersey,  thy  blue  hills,        ...  -  225 

To  the  Young-  Men's  Bible  Society,       -  -  -  227 

To , 229 

Song,     .......  230 

The  Mariner's  Hymn,   -  -  -  -  231 

To  the  New-Year,  -----  233 

O  thou  that  plead'st,      ...  -  -  235 

Ode,  on  the  43d  Anniversary  of  American  Independence,  237 

Jehovah's  Love,  -----  239 

Wilt  thou,  O  Lord, 240 

When  the  rose,  -----  241 

Thy  kingdom  come,       -----  243 

There  is  a  harp,  -----  245 

Lines,  on  reading  Mrs.  Barbauld's  Poems,        -  -  246 

Prayer,  written  in  a  Season  of  Pestilence,         -  -  247 

Vespers, 249 

To  the  Sun, 250 


RETROSPECTION. 


"Tis  sweet,  in  seclusion,  to  look  on  the  past, 
In  life's  sober  twilight  recal  the  day-dream; 
To  mark  the  smooth  sunshine,  and  skies  overcast, 
That  chequered  our  course   as  we  moved  down   the 
stream. 

For  0  there's  a  charm  in  retracing  the  morn 
When  the  star  of  our  pleasure  beamed  brightly  awhile, 
And  the  tear  that  in  infancy  watered  the  thorn, 
By  the  magic  of  memory  is  changed  to  a  smile. 

How  faint  is  the  touch,  no  perspective  bestowing, 
Nor  scenery  in  nature's  true  colours  arrayed; 
How  chaste  is  the  landscape,  how  vividly  glowing, 
Where  the  warm  tint  of  fancv  is  mellowed  bv  shade! 


18 

With  cheerfulness  then,  Retrospection,  I'll  greet  thee, 
Though  the  night-shade  be  twined  in  thy  bouquet  of 

sweets, 
In  the  eve  of  reflection  this  bosom  will  meet  thee, 
While  to  the  dear  vision  of  childhood  it  beats. 

And  the  heart  that  in  confidence  seeks  its  review, 
And  finds  the  calm  impress  of  innocence  there, 
With  rapture  anticipates  happiness  new, 
In  hope  yet  to  come,  it  possesses  a  share. 

If  in  worlds  beatific,  affections  unite, 
And  those  once  dissevered  are  blended  in  love; 
If  dreams  of  the  past  quicken  present  delight, 
Retrospection  adds  bliss  to  the  spotless  above. 


13 


THE  THORN  OF  LIFE. 


We  see,  in  life's  wide  wilderness, 
Some  plants  of  fair,  and  varied  mien; 
Love's  rose  springs  here,  while  there,  distress, 
The  night  shade  rank,  is  seen. 

With  choicest  care,  we  cull  the  flowers 
That  breathe  of  beauty  and  of  morn; 
But  while  the  bouquet  charms  the  eye, 
We  feel  the  secret  thorn. 

And  who  is  free  from  sorrow's  thorn? 
Joy's  sparkling  beverage  dost  thou  sip? 
Thou  mays't;  but  soon  the  poisonous  dreg 
Shall  meet  thy  quivering  lip. 

Thy  morning,  gay,  perchance,  hath  shone, 
And  Hope  exulting,  plumed  its  flight; 
At  noon,  the  stern  destroyer  came, 
With  disappointment's  blight. 
2 


14 

Hast  friends?  thou  hast — yet  the  last  sun, 
That  saw  thy  bliss,  hath  seen  the  dart, 
Whose  cruel  fang  shall  pierce  thy  friend, 
And  wring  thy  lonely  heart. 

Thy  wife,  thy  offspring — whence  that  sigh? 
Too  well  I  trace  the  secret  tear, 
For  thou,  who  wife  and  offspring  knew, 
Hath  wept  upon  their  bier. 

Love  hath  its  chill,  and  mirth  the  sigh, 
And  who  may  boast  a  cloudless  morn  ? 
Mortal,  that  cull'st  the  flowers  of  life, 
Think  not  to  'scape  the  thorn. 


15 


STANZAS, 


fHEY  SHALL  LIE  DOWX  ALIKE   IN  THE  DCST. 

Job. 


Ve  hapless,  who  repining,  grieve 

At  poverty  and  ill; 

Who  doubtful,  question  heaven's  decree. 

And  murmur  at  its  will: 

Think  ye  that  affluence  is  the  source 
Whence  unmixed  blessings  flow? 
Think  ye  that  gold  can  satisfy, 
Or  splendour,  peace  bestow? 

Mistaking  race! — alas,  how  few 
This  panacea  boast; 
Ye  labour,  but  for  bliss  untrue, 
The  care  and  toil  are  lost. 

Go,  learn  content,  for  riches  yet 
Have  never  fed  the  mind; 
Go,  learn  content,  the  coffered  wretch 
May  ne'er  enjoyment  find. 


16 

The  costly  robe  of  Tyrian  dye, 
Oft  hides  some  bosom  care; 
And  virgin  smiles,  and  sparkling  wit, 
Conceal  the  latent  tear. 

Art  thou  obscure? — the  writhing  cares 
Of  genius,  are  not  thine; 
Unknown? — rejoice,  for  thou  art  free, 
No  slave  at  folly's  shrine. 

Thine  are  affection's  purest  sweets, 
And  thine  is  love's  caress; 
Approving  peace  within  thy  heart, 
A  Providence  to  bless. 

Thine  are  the  beauties  of  the  globe, 
The  charms  that  sense  allure; 
For  thee,  yon  azure  glories  burn, 
Say,  mortal,  art  thou  poor? 

The  hopes  that  shine  along  life's  path, 
To  cheer  thee,  too,  are  given; 
The  Star  that  points  the  wanderer's  way, 
Shall  lead  thee  to  thy  heaven. 

And  while,  lamented  by  the  great, 
The  rich  repose  in  clay; 
Thou,  too,  wilt  seek  thy  final  bed, 
And  slumber  sweet  as  they. 


M 


TO 


A  YOUTHFUL  FRIEND. 


In  life's  early  vision,  when  bliss  mantles  high, 

And  the  morning  of  pleasure  beams  cloudless  and  pure, 

When  fond  expectation  illumines  the  eye, 

And  hope  to  the  bosom  seems  brilliant  as  sure; 

How  numerous  the  perils  that  ambush  the  way! 
What  dangers  to  threaten,  what  syrens  to  snare! 
And  he  that  in  sunshine  hath  welcomed  the  day, 
At  evening  is  wrapt  in  the  cloud  of  despair. 

For  they  that  in  sympathy  now  would  adore  thee, 
While  the  cup  of  prosperity,  sparkling,  is  thine; 
Ungrateful,  will  ere  long,  in  mockery  smile  o'er  thee, 
When  the  sun  of  thy  pleasure  in  mists  shall  decline. 

2* 


18 

And  if,  unexperienced,  thy  heart  is  deceived, 

And  thou  in  oblivion  thy  anguish  would'st  steep; 

If  the  faithless  hath  pierced  thee,  and  those  once  believed, 

Unheeding  their  plightings,  have  left  thee  to  weep; 

0  then,  thou  benighted,  and  lone,  look  afar, 
To  Him*  that  can  soften  the  wounds  he  has  made; 
The  Guide  of  thy  youth,  who  alone  is  the  Star, 
Directing  to  day-beams  unsullied  by  shade. 

*  My  Father!  Thou  art  the  guide  of  my  youth.  Bible. 


19 


THE 


x\IISSIONARY?S  GRAVE 


IN  THE  DESERT. 


In  a  foreign  soil  he  sleeps, 
And  lowly  is  his  bed; 
No  early  wild-flower  weeps, 
Where  he  pillows  his  weary  head. 

By  stranger  hands  he  was  laid 
Where  the  Siroc  sweeps  the  mound; 
Where  the  night-kings,  fierce,  invade 
The  solitude  profound. 

The  grief  of  a  yearning  brother, 
That  hillock  ne'er  hath  known; 
The  heart-wrung  tears  of  a  mother, 
Ne'er  dropt  on  that  cold  stone. 


No  cenotaph  tells  his  worth; 
No  sculptured  wreaths  proclaim, 
That  the  slumbering  herald  of  truth 
Hath  gained  the  martyr's  name. 

But  the  heart  of  affection  true, 
Hath  sighed  o'er  the  sandy  wave; 
But  the  tears  of  the  wanderer  bedew 
The  Missionary's  lonely  grave. 


21 


W®  jfUSHEa 


0  come  smiling  June, 

In  soft  beauty  arrayed; 
0  come,  and  bring  with  thee, 

Young  pleasure,  fair  maid; 
0  come  from  thy  mountain, 

O  come  from  thy  bower, 
Thou  queen  of  the  fountain, 

The  breeze  and  the  flower. 

0  come  smiling  June, 

Bid  the  meadows  rejoice; 
With  health  thy  companion, 

And  labour  thy  choice; 
Where  lately  in  triumph 

Stern  winter  was  seen, 
Pomona  shall  mantle 

Her  livery  of  green. 


23 

No  more  let  the  minstrel 

Sing  enraptured  of  May; 
Thy  beauties,  fair  season, 

Shall  waken  his  lay; 
Thy  morn  is  serener, 

And  brighter  thy  noon; 
Thy  evening  more  lovely, 

0  come  smiling  June. 


23 


THE  PENSIONER 


I  marked  him  once,  and  that  dim  eye, 
Methought  could  tell  of  hidden  wo; 
I  saw  no  tear,  I  heard  no  sigh; 
The  sigh  was  hushed,  no  tear  could  flow. 

His  form  was  decked  in  misery's  garb, 
That  idly  mocked  the  storm^s  control; 
His  heart  was  torn — neglect's  keen  barb, 
With  cruel  fang,  had  pierced  his  soul. 

Yet  no  sad  tale  the  veteran  told, 
His  prayer,  my  country,  was  for  thee; 
Meekly  resigned,  though  basely  sold 
To  grief,  contempt  and  poverty. 

Yes,  those  that  never  met  the  foe, 
That  never  warmed  with  freedom's  flame, 
Could  bravely  crush  the  warrior  low, 
Could  spurn  the  hoary  veteran's  claim. 


24 

I  saw  the  passing  flood  of  years 
Bear  him  to  some  forgotten  grave; 
For  him  affection  had  no  tears, 
No  sigh  was  given  to  the  brave. 

THE  EPITAPH. 

Here  doth  the  war-worn  veteran  sleep, 
And  soft  is  now  the  soldier's  bed; 
Mourn  not  his  fate;  your  country  weep, 
Lament: — her  gratitude  is  dead. 


•25 


YOU  ASK'D,  I  REMEMBER. 


You  ask'd,  I  remember,  if  those  that  have  flown 
To  the  regions  of  sunshine,  would  visit  again 
The  scenes  of  past  grief,  to  mortality  known, 
The  dream  of  anxiety,  chequered  with  pain? 

Should  from  courts  beatific,  the  spotless  e'er  bend, 
And  delights,  once  endeared,  unimpassioned  descry; 
Is  there  aught  that  could  bid  the  wrapt  spirit  descend, 
Or  a  wish  rise  unbidden,  to  waken  the  sigh? 

If  so,  'tis  the  thought  of  that  innocent  bliss, 
The  sun-ray,  expanding  affection's  young  flower, 
Which,  caught  from  yon  region,  beams  brightly  on  this, 
And  to  Time  lends  the  hue  of  Eternity's  hour. 

If  so,  'tis  remembrance  of  love's  plighted  vow, 
The  sweets  of  communion,  once  ardent  and  true; 
And  the  wish  that  those  veiled  in  mortality  now, 
Should  soar  disembodied,  and  friendship  renew. 

3 


26 


SPIRIT  OF  SONG. 


Spirit  of  Song,  with  impulse  true, 
I  offer  at  thy  viewless  shrine; 
Thou  canst  the  throb  of  grief  subdue; 
For  bliss  serene  and  pure,  is  thine. 

Spirit  of  Song,  in  early  days, 
'Twas  thou  that  whispered'st  joy  to  me; 
In  manhood,  I  invoke  thy  lays, 
For  thou  alone  art  all  to  me. 

Spirit  of  Song,  I  ask  no  boon 
Of  earth,  to  gild  my  youthful  day; 
And  when  I  enter  life's  calm  noon, 
Shall  never  crave  ambition's  ray: 

But,  sweet  inspirer,  still  do  thou, 
Life's  rugged  path,  with  smiles  illume; 
And  as  thou  guid'st  and  charm'st  me  now, 
Descend  and  cheer  me  to  the  tomb. 


27 


TO 


JAMES  MONTGOMERY, 


OF  SHEFFIELD,  ENGLAND. 


Montgomery  seeks  a  hallowed  lyre, 
To  consecrate  the  poet's  name; 
How  pure  is  inspiration's  fire, 
When  blessed  Religion  fans  the  flame. 

The  minstrel  quits  each  lighter  theme, 
Fame  seems  but  unsubstantial  dross; 
Forsaking  fancy's  early  dream, 
He  kindles  at  the  lowly  cross. 

In  life's  drear  path,  sojourning  long, 
What  tears  and  perils  throng  the  road; 
From  these,  redeemed,  with  grace  his  song, 
The  wanderer  now  returns  to  God. 


28 

Sweet  was  the  hour,  when  o'er  his  path 
The  pillar  shone  with  steady  ray; 
Secured  from  Sinai's  threatening  wrath, 
The  pilgrim  treads  the  narrow  way. 

Do  worldly  friends  withdraw  their  love: 
He  leans  on  Christ  each  bosom  care; 
When  trials  sadden,  borne  above, 
How  holy  is  the  closet  prayer. 

Montgomery,  though  the  shades  of  even 
Have  often  gloomed  upon  thy  brow, 
Yet  shines  there  still,  a  ray  of  heaven, 
For  Jesus  is  thy  surety  now. 


29 


MMMmmm  ®mm 


^^ 


«rVC    AT  THE   DEDICATION    OF    THE   flRAN'D   LODGE  OP   PEN" XSYLVAXIA, 
PHILADELPHIA,   NOVEMBER   1,   1820. 


"  Strike  the  cymbal, 

Roll  the  tymbal!" 
"^  well  the  note  of  grateful  love; 

Heaven  rejoices, 

Lend  your  voices, 
Praise  the  Architect  above. 

God  of  glory ! 

The  song  of  vict'ry, 
Pagans  loud  are  ever  thine; 

Cherubs  singing, 

Glad  are  bringing 
Offerings  to  Jehovah's  shrine 
S* 


30 

Lo,  in  grandeur, 

Bedecked  in  splendour, 
See  the  Temple  proudly  rises! 
Masonry  triumphant  gazes, 

Where,  red  gleaming, 

Ruin  beaming, 
Spread  the  midnight  terror  round 


Art  combining, 

Grace  entwining, 
Charity  the  corner  stone: 

Discord  never 

Can  dissever 
Fabrics  reared  on  God  alone. 


Faith  and  Hope  our  chosen  stay, 

Love  illumes  with  mystic  ray; 

Truth  and  Reason  still  combine, 

Still  adorn  the  hallowed  shrine. 

Praise,  praise  the  Architect,  0  praise, 
Hosanna!  Hosanna!  Hosanna! 

Alluding  to  the  conflagration  of  the  Masonic  Hall,  1819 


MASSACHUSETTS  SCENERY 


Thy  son,  O  New  England,  though  wandering  afar 
From  the  scenes  that  affection  once  lit  with  a  smile, 
Still  recals  the  gay  vision  when  childhood's  young  star 
Could  lead  to  enjoyment,  and  sorrow  beguile. 

And  memory  yet  rambles  o'er  life's  reckless  dawn, 
When  hope  smiled  so  lovely  and  earth  seemed  so  true, 
When  thought,  fond  deceiver,  bade  welcome  the  morn 
That  imparted  to  bliss  its  cerulean  hue. 

Then  careless,  to  linger  in  Love's  native  bowers, 
Where  Spring,  Pleasure's  handmaid,  rejoiced  o'er  the 

scene, 
Or  when  sober  Autumn  succeeded  the  flowers, 
To  stray  while  contentment  lent  zest  ever  keen. 

Where  Brookline,  half  hid  in  the  woodland  appears, 
Whose  white  steeple  rises  in  pride  from  the  grove; 
Where  bland  hospitality's  welcome  endears, 
I  roamed  when  this  heart  beat  to  pleasure  and  love. 


And  sweet,  lovely  village,  thy  vallies  to  me, 
And  dear  are  thy  hills  where  I  hailed  the  first  sun, 
When  a  school -boy  romantic,  from  apathy  free, 
I  reposed  in  thy  orchard  and  bathed  in  thy  run. 

Afar,  the  gay  hamlets  of  plenty  are  found, 
Though  nameless  in  pomp,  to  simplicity  dear; 
And  queen  of  the  villas,  besprinkled  around, 
See  Boston,  thy  pride,  O  New  England,  appear. 

O  dear  is  the  land  of  my  fathers,  and  long 
Recollection  shall  stray  o'er  the  mountain  and  plain; 
Though  far,  far  away,  yet  in  story  and  song, 
Shall  the  minstrel  return  to  thy  bowers  again. 

For  thy  son,  0  New  England,  now  wandering  afar 
From  the  scenes  that  affection  once  lit  with  a  smile, 
Still  recalsthegay  vision  when  childhood's  young  star 
Could  lead  to  enjoyment,  and  sorrow  beguile. 


33 


TO 


OF  RUSSIA. 


Go,  Alexander!  deign  to  learn 
What  ermined  conquerors  should  know, 
Though  despots,  godlike  Freedom  spurn, 
Her  sons  can  never  stoop  so  low. 

Go,  Autocrat,  "  Deliverer,"  thou! 
Lord  of  the  vassal  and  the  slave, 
Go,  hide  that  once  imperial  brow, 
Whose  majesty  seemed  formed  to  save. 

Monarch,  how  powerless  is  thy  might; 
Thy  proud  memorials,  how  vain; 
Can  edicts  e'er  roll  back  the  night, 
That  curtained,  once,  regenerate  Spain  i 


34 

No!  for  the  bosom,  disenthralled, 
With  Liberty,  shall  ceaseless,  burn, 
For  her,  the  sword  shall  rush  uncalled, 
Nor  bloodless  to  its  rest  return. 

No!  for  the  dawn  that  peerless  broke, 
Hath  shed  abroad  its  living  ray, 
From  slumber  Lusitania  woke, 
Enjoys  thy  beam,  Hesperia. 


35 


WHY  SHOULD  WE  SIGH 


Why  should  \t&  sigh  when  Fancy's  dream, 

The  ray  that  shone  'mid  youthful  tears, 
Departing,  leaves  no  kindly  gleam, 

To  cheer  the  lonely  waste  of  years? 
Why  should  we  sigh? — The  fairy  charm 

That  bound  each  sense  in  folly's  chain 
Is  broke,  and  Reason,  clear  and  calm, 

Resumes  her  holy  rights  again. 

Why  should  we  sigh  that  earth  no  more 

Claims  the  devotion  once  approved? 
That  joys  endeared,  with  us  are  o'er, 

And  gone  are  those  these  hearts  have  loved: 
Why  should  we  sigh? — Unfading  bliss 

Survives  the  narrow  grasp  of  time; 
And  those  that  asked  our  tears  in  this, 

Shall  render  smiles  in  vonder  clime. 


36 


WHEN  DEATH  SHALL  LAY. 


When  death  shall  lay  this  bosom  low, 
And  every  murmur  hush  to  sleep, 
When  those  that  give  affection  now, 
Shall  o'er  affection's  memory  weep, 

I  would  not,  when  life's  spark  has  flown, 
That  strangers  should  receive  the  sigh; 
I  would  not,  that  a  hand  unknown, 
Should,  reckless,  close  the  slumbering  eye: 

But,  on  some  throbbing  breast  reclined, 
That  beat  alone  to  love  and  me; 
Each  parting  pang  subdued,  how  kind, 
How  peaceful,  would  my  exit  be. 

1  would  not,  that  this  lowly  head 
Should  pillow,  cold,  on  foreign  clay; 
I  would  not,  that  my  grassy  bed 
Should  be  from  home  and  love  awav: 


37 

But,  in  my  native  village  ground, 
Near  kindred  dust,  these  relics  laid: 
How  calm  my  slumbers,  how  profound, 
Beneath  the  old  tree's  sombre  shade. 


38 


THE  TUSCARORA'S  ADIEU. 


Farewell,  0  Monilli !  I  fly  to  the  plain, 

Which  the  blood  of  our  foes  shall  bedew; 

Hark!  the  death -song  that  echoes  the  dirge  of  the  slain, 

The  war-whoop  has  sounded — Adieu ! 

Farewell,  0  Monilli!  in  battle  afar 
When  the  tomahawk  glitters  on  high, 
Should  fate  give  your  love  to  the  demon  of  war, 
He  will  waft  to  your  memory  a  sigh. 

When  in  regions  of  sun  the  red  warrior  shall  rest, 
Where  the  white  man  can  never  appear, 
In  whispers  of  midnight,  the  songs  of  the  blest 
Shall  chase  from  Monilli  the  tear. 

Farewell  love!  impatient,  I  fly  to  the  plain, 

Which  the  blood  of  our  foes  shall  bedew; 

Hark!  the  death-song  that  echoes  the  dirge  of  the  slain, 

The  war-whoop  has  sounded — Adieu  f 


3» 


0  THOU  THAT  HATH  STRAYED. 


0  thou  that  hath  strayed  in  a  pathway  of  sorrow, 
Where  joy  is  a  stranger  and  peril  is  near; 
With  regret  for  the  past,  and  no  hope  for  the  morrow, 
The  sigh  thy  companion,  thy  solace  a  tear: 

Though  dark  thy  horizon,  no  star  of  day  cheering, 
Though  thy  way,  long  and  lonely,  no  pleasures  illume; 
Yet  in  faith  turn  thy  vision  to  solace  appearing, 
For  a  ray  of  tranquillity  shines  from  the  tomb. 

There's  bliss  yet  in  store,  let  reflection  still  cheer  thee; 
There's  rest  for  the  weary,  unfading  and  true; 
On  the  ocean  of  life,  though  the  billows  are  near  thee, 
Look  afar  where  the  haven  of  peace  is  in  view! 


40 


TO 


THE  HOLY  ALLIANCE 


Say  je  that  rule  with  iron  sway 

The  continental  soil, 
To  whom  the  nations  are  a  prey 

And  liberty  a  spoil, 
The  generous  spirit  would  ye  bind, 

Its  noble  daring  blight? 
Say,  would  ye  crush  the  "  march  of  mind,,: 

And  bring  Egyptian  night? 

Proud  Autocrat!  "Deliverer"  thou! 

How  dim  thy  diadem, 
When  that  which  once  adorned  thy  brow 

Is  faded  from  the  gem; 
Go,  sway  thy  sceptre  o'er  a  wild; 

Satiate  ambition's  lust; 
Let  parasites  salute  thee  "mild," 

We  know  thee  deeply  curst. 


41 

And  ye,  degenerate,  baser  kings, 

Unknown  to  godlike  fame; 
Shall  seas  of  patriot-blood  redeem, 

With  untold  years,  your  shame? 
No!  rescued  from  oblivion's  gulf, 

By  bigotry  and  crime, 
Your  deeds  shall  stain  the  flood  of  years, 

And  blot  the  scroll  of  time. 


Monarchs,  think  ye  leagued  tyrants  can, 

As  erst  in  Italy, 
Successfully  oppose,  when  man 

Arises  to  be  free? 
When  Freedom  quits  her  mountain  height, 

To  seek  the  battle-field, 
And  bids  her  sons  sustain  the  fight, 

With  heaven  and  hope  their  shield, 


Think  ye  the  bosom,  beating  then, 

Will  shun  the  fatal  blow? 
Think  ye  one  heart  will  shrink  that  day, 

Till  tyranny  is  low? 
Go!  ask — ye  shall  not  ask  in  vain — 

Of  those  that  bled  of  yore; 
When  Leon  saw  her  children  slain, 

When  Leon  smoked  with  gore. 
4* 


42 

Though  Naples  to  her  leaden  sleep 

Returns,  no  longer  free; 
Though  liberty  has  fled,  to  weep 

Her  dire  apostacy; 
Yet,  despots!  turn,  and  trembling,  view 

Your  potency  how  vain; 
Behold  a  generous  nation  true, 

Behold  regenerate  Spain. 


43 


I  CAN  NOT  BUT  SIGH 


I  can  not  but  sigh,  when  the  friends  of  my  youth, 
Who  repaid  with  fond  ardor  the  love  that  I  gave, 
Who  tendered  their  pledge  on  the  altar  of  truth, 
Forgetful,  return  to  their  rest  in  the  grave. 


I  can  not  but  sigh,  when  the  visions  of  joy, 
That  rose  on  gay  childhood,  and  sought  to  allure, 
Like  the  dreams  of  the  wretched  but  smiled  to  destroy, 
Or  adorn  the  bright  sketchings  they  failed  to  ensure. 

I  can  not  but  sigh,  while  reviewing  the  years, 
When  hope  in  this  bosom  beat  ardent  and  high: 
0  Memory,  what  art  thou?  a  record  ot  tears, 
Of  meteor-enjoyments,  that  sparkle  and  die. 


44 

I  can  not  but  sigh,  when  futurity's  scroll, 
Unfolding,  gives  sign  of  no  pleasure  in  store; 
When  regret  for  the  past  still  remains  on  the  soul, 
While  the  present  is  lost  in  aspiring  to  more. 

I  can  not  but  sigh,  when  heart-stricken,  I  scan 
The  victims  of  misery  that  float  down  the  stream; 
And  e'en  while  recounting  the  bliss  of  frail  man, 
T  can  not  but  sigh,  for  that  bliss  is  a  dream. 


\:i 


WHEN  THE  LAST  TEAR. 


When  the  last  tear  of  love  is  shed, 
And  the  freed  spirit  hastes  away; 

When  joy,  desire,  and  hope  have  fled, 
And  beauty  seeks  its  couch  in  clay, 

0,  then,  what  art,  what  pageantry 

Oi  worth  deceased,  shall  tell?  what  bust 

To  years  shall  breathe  the  memory 
Of  those  that  slumber,  dust  with  dust? 

For  marbled  busts  will  disappear, 
While  time  obliteraies  the  urn, 

And  those  that  now  bestow  the  tear, 
Will  claim  the  tribute  in  return. 

Vain  is  the  pageant,  vain  is  art, 
To  glean  from  years  a  living  name; 

One  simple  deed  from  virtue's  heart 
Alone  can  consecrate  its  fame. 


4fi 


THERE  IS  AN  HOUR. 


There  is  an  hour  of  peaceful  rest, 
To  mourning  wanderers  given; 
There  is  a  tear  for  souls  distressed, 
A  balm  for  every  wounded  breast, 
'Tis  found  above,  in  heaven. 

There  is  a  soft,  a  downy  bed, 
'Tis  fair  as  breath  of  even; 
A  couch  for  weary  mortals  spread, 
Where  they  may  rest  the  aching  head. 
And  find  repose  in  heaven. 

There  is  a  home  for  weeping  souls, 

By  sin  and  sorrow  driven; 
When  tost  on  life's  tempestuous  shoals. 
Where  storms  arise  and  ocean  rolls, 

And  all  is  drear — 'tis  heaven. 


47 

There  faith  lifts  up  the  tearful  eye, 

The  heart  with  anguish  riven; 
And  views  the  tempest  passing  by, 
The  evening  shadows  quickly  fly, 
And  all  serene  in  heaven. 

There  fragrant  flowers  immortal  bloom, 

And  joys  supreme  are  given ; 
There  rays  divine  disperse  the  gloom, 
Beyond  the  confines  of  the  tomb, 
Appears  the  dawn  of  heaven. 


48 


THE 


SEAMAN'S  BIBLE. 


Borne  on  the  bosom  of  the  wave, 
Where  death  and  danger  6ft  appear, 
The  Seaman  trod  the  billowy  grave, 
Stranger  to  thought  or  fear. 

Unknown  the  Power  that  stayed  his  youth. 
The  God  who  holds  the  sea,  unknown; 
Within,  no  ray  of  living  truth, 
With  kindly  impulse  shone. 

Fierce,  the  careering  midnight  storm 
In  anger,  mingled  wave  and  sky, 
While  the  red  lightning  scathed  his  form, 
His  curse  was  heard  on  high. 


49 

Deep  thunders  rent  the  shivering  mast, 
The  barque  rude  tossed  by  every  sea; 
No  tear  was  given  for  the  past, 
Nor  to  futurity. 


No  prayer  assailed  the  holy  throne, 
Could  the  profane,  the  scoffer  pray? 
No,  wretched,  trembling,  and  alone, 
His  spirit  fled  away. 


Mourn,  Seaman,  for  thy  comrade  mourn, 
His  soul  was  noble,  generous,  free, 
Yet  deep  in  guilt,  it  sought  the  bourne 
Of  dread  eternity. 

O  had  he  scanned  the  living  chart, 
By  which  the  unerring  course  is  laid, 
Renewed,  and  sanctified  in  heart, 
The  wanderer  ne'er  had  strayed. 

Mourn  for  the  dead,  yet  with  thy  tears 
Blend  earnest  thanks  for  grace  divine, 
Seaman,  a  happier  dawn  appears, 
The  Bible  now  is  thine. 

The  "  Man  of  Nazareth"  calls  to  thee, 
He  bids  thy  toils  and  sorrows  cease; 
The  voice  that  calmed  proud  Galilee, 
Speaks  to  the  weary,  peace. 


50 

He  will  direct  and  cheer  thy  way, 
'Mid  perils,  and  through  climes  afar; 
And  when  by  sin  beguiled  astray, 
Will  shine  thy  Morning  Star. 

Safe  in  the  tempest  as  the  calm, 
Is  he  that  seeks  the  mercy  seat; 
Seaman,  rejoice,  death  boasts  a  charm 
Leading  to  Jesus'  feet. 


51 


11=4' 


Daughter  of  Heaven,  fair  offspring  of  the  skies, 
To  thee,  0  peace,  shall  sweetest  incense  rise, 
The  song  of  angels,  theme  of  men  below, 
'Tis  thine  to  soothe,  and  heal  a  nation's  wo; 
Robed  with  resplendence,  bright  celestial  day, 
How  evanescent  is  thy  meteor  ray; 
As  the  wild  lightning's  quick  receding  glare, 
The  flash  illumes,  and  leaves  the  darkening  air, 
"Tis  here — 'tis  gone; — the  boon  is  soon  recalled, 
And  war's  dire  besom  sweeps  a  groaning  world. 

Hark,  from  the  dungeon  of  the  dreary  cells, 
Where  haggard  want,  with  frowning  horror  dwells, 
The  accursed  walls  by  tyrant  hands  upreared, 
The  flinty  stones  with  guiltless  blood  besmeared, 
A  groan  bursts  forth,  at  which  the  rocks  would  weep, 
A  sigh  is  breathed  from  misery's  bosom  deep.* 


*  Alluding  to  the  imprisonment  of  R.  W.  Meade,  who  was 
confined  in  Spain,  by  order  of  the  government. 


Say,  shall  we  hear  unmoved,  that  harrowing  groan 
With  frigid  coldness,  mark  each  rising  moan? 
Forbid  it  heaven,  that  e'er  the  captive's  sigh, 
Should  ask  for  aid,  and  no  redemption  nigh. 
Who  will  not  rise,  a  free  born  son  to  save, 
From  Spanish  chains,  from  slavery's  living  graver 
Is  there  a  heart  of  adamant,  so  formed, 
Its  icy  core  to  pity  ne'er  was  warmed? 
That  heart  will  soften  at  the  victim's  pain, 
That  soul  will  rouse  against  relentless  Spain. 
All,  all  will  rise,  for  vengeance  is  not  far, 
And  gentle  peace  shall  yield  to  righteous  war; 
From  short  repose,  the  avenging  sword  will  leap, 
And  prove  to  Ferd'nand,  justice  doth  not  sleep; 
Its  flaming  point  will  hostile  shores  illume, 
And  light  the  tyrant  to  his  final  doom; 
Nor  will  the  goddess  bless  Hesperia's  lands, 
'Till  Spanish  legions  own  our  conquering  bands, 
Then  shall  the  olive  bloom  on  freedom's  shore; 
Swords  plow  the  earth,  and  war  be  heard  no  more; 
Accursed  contention  with  its  horrors  cease, 
For  rightful  war,  ensures  a  lasting  Peace. 


April,  1818. 


53 


GRAVE  OF  PUTNAM. 


The  awful  height  of  Bunker's  brow, 
To  wondering  ages  still  shall  tell 
What  valour  stemmed  the  rushing  foe, 
When  cannons  pealed  a  Warren's  knell. 

There  is  a  spot,  'tis  hallowed  ground, 
Where  lowly  rests  the  warrior's  head; 
The  tall  grass,  mournful,  waves  around; 
It  waves  o'er  Putnam's  honoured  bed. 

The  traveller  here  will  oft  repair, 
To  give  the  generous  meed  of  wo; 
'And  by  the  sainted  spirit  swear, 
To  guard  his  fame  from  every  foe. 

And  though  with  envy,  scoffers  burn, 
That  fame  will  live  in  deathless  bloom; 
The  laurel  deck  the  hero's  urn, 
The  night-shade  mark  his  slanderer's  tomb. 

5* 


54 


O  COME  FROM  A  WORLD. 


0  come  from  a  world,  where  sorrow  and  gloom, 

Chastise  the  allurements  of  joy; 
A  pathway  bedimmed,  with  no  rays  to  illume, 

Save  the  meteor  that  shines  to  destroy; 
Where  the  thoughtless  have  revelled,  when  mirth  had 

no  charm, 
Where  the  wounded  have  wept,  but  still  needed  the 
balm. 


0  come  from  a  world,  where  the  landscape  is  chill. 

Or  deceitfully  blossoming  fair, 
The  garden  gives  promise  of  bright  flowers,  still 

The  night-shade  luxuriates  there; 
That  sky,  now  serene,  blushing  lovely  and  clear, 
0  heed  not  its  beauty,  the  storm-cloud  is  near. 


no 

0  come  from  a  world,  where  the  cup  of  delight 
Now  sparkles  and  foams  at  the  brim; 

For  the  laurels  that  wreath  it,  reflection  shall  blight, 
Its  lustre,  repentance  shall  dim; 

The  lips,  that  convivial,  have  pledged  thee  the  bowl, 

Shall  blanch  with  confusion  when  fear  rives  the  soul. 


0  come  from  a  world,  where  they  that  beguile 
Will  lead  thee  to  peril  and  fears; 

For  the  heart  that,  confiding,  hath  welcomed  its  smile, 
Hath  found  it  the  prelude  to  tears: 

Come  then,  there^s  a  path  by  the  reckless  untrod; 

O  come,  weary  wanderer,  it  leads  to  thy  God. 


56 


EVENING  HYMN. 


O  thou  that  reign'st  with  power  on  high. 
From  whom  alone  our  blessings  flow; 
Whose  kind  protecting  care  is  nigh, 
To  saints  above,  and  men  below, 

To  thee,  our  grateful  evening  song, 
We  now  with  mingled  voices  raise; 
To  thee  alone,  doth  well  belong 
The  tuneful  notes  of  sacred  praise. 

We  bless  thee  that  thy  watchful  care 
Hath  kept  our  steps  another  day; 
That  we  thy  numerous  mercies  share, 
That  we  the  social  tribute  pay. 

Each  fault,  thy  spotless  eye  hath  seen: 
Wilt  thou,  for  Jesus'  sake  forgive; 
In  his  atonement  wash  us  clean, 
And  let  the  contrite  sinner  live. 


While  night  enwraps  her  mantle  round, 
And  we  our  weary  eye-lids  close, 
Still  may  thy  guardian  hand  be  found, 
And  each  awake  from  sweet  repose. 

Thus,  through  life's  dark,  eventful  way, 
May  we,  with  faith,  rely  on  thee, 
'Till  we  arrive  at  perfect  day, 
Whose  dawn  precedes  eternity. 


58 


THE  IMMORTAL  MIND 


When  pleasure  smiles  with  aspect  gaj, 

And  bright  alluring  mien; 
When  joy  emits  its  cloudless  ray, 
While  darkening  storms  seem  far  away, 

And  all  is  bliss  serene: 

When  friendship  cheers  with  sacred  charm, 

And  sympathy  sincere; 
When  circled  in  affection's  arm, 
Whose  glance  can  bitter  griefs  disarm, 

And  smile,  dispel  the  tear: 

When  all  that  glittering  wealth  can  boast, 

Or  laurelled  fame  bestow; 
Unites  with  science'  richer  zest, 
To  crown  the  favoured  votary  blest, 

With  happiness  below: 


59 

0  say,  from  whence  the  secret  care, 

That  rives  without  control; 
That  spurns  each  bliss  as  empty  air, 
While  racked,  it  feels  with  keen  despair, 

Vacuity  of  soul? 

Learn,  mortal; — the  expanding  mind, 

That  essence  from  above; 
Dread  Emanation,  is  designed, 
To  feast  on  deathless  joys  refined, 

And  drink  eternal  love. 


CO 


®VE&sm&s< 


I  love  the  breast  that  kindly  feels 
The  griefs  which  mortals  know; 
I  love  the  lip  whose  accent  heals 
The  wounds  of  tearful  woe 


The  eye  that  beams  with  pity's  gem, 
Is  bright  to  every  view; 
Its  lustre  shades  the  diadem, 
Or  ruby's  sparkling  hue. 

The  form  that  flies  to  misery's  aid, 
To  dry  the  orphan's  tear; 
Is  grace,  combined  with  ease,  displayed, 
Unrivalled  by  compeer. 


61 

Sweet  is  Apollo's  silver  strain, 
And  Sappho's  melting  air; 
Sweeter  the  notes  that  soften  pain, 
And  banish  dark  despair. 

Woman,  while  these  unite  in  thee, 
We  own  thy  magic  still; 
And  every  heart,  though  proudly  free, 
Is  vanquished  at  thy  will. 


6S 


3S  ^FSiliif , 


A  FRAGMENT. 


*.**-*]  SAW  the  scroll — 
Its  fearful  length  unfolding  far  beyond 
The  ken  of  Angel. 

*  #    *     *     eternity  was  there. 

^fc  dfc  -V*  dfe  dfe  ^fc         ^fc         £tz         sifc  ^fe  i'* 

#  #     #     &     The  trumpets  sounded, 
The  golden  harps  attuned  triumphant  lays, 
To  him  who  was,  who  is,  and  is  to  come, 
Creation's  king;  when  lo,  the  Seraph 
Whom  first  I  saw,  advancing,  gave  the  sign, 

And  heaven's  vast  courts  were  still; — with  rapid  strides 

Approached  the  Monarch,  hoar  unwearied  time, 

To  him,  the  chief,  he  trembling,  yielded  up 

His  dread  account:  The  Cherub  raised  the  signet, 

Jehovah's  manuel,  and  on  the  parchment  was  imprest 

Another  year — Again  the  trumpets  sounded; 

The  tuneful  harps  again  lent  melody, 

And  swelled  on  high,  the  blessed,  the  sacred  song. 


(53 


AFRICA. 


:  ETHIOPIA    SHALL  STRETCH  OITT  HEH  niNDS  UXTO  THKK. 

While  on  the  distant  Hindoo  shore, 
Messiah's  cross  is  reared; 
While  Pagan  votaries  bow  no  more, 
With  idol  blood  besmeared: 

While  Palestine  again  doth  hear, 
The  gospel's  joyful  sound; 
While  Islam  crescents  disappear, 
From  Calvary's  holy  ground: 

Say,  shall  not  Afric's  fated  land, 
With  news  of  grace  be  blest? 
Say,  shall  not  Ethiopia's  band, 
Enjoy  the  promised  rest? 


64 

Ye  heralds  of  a  Saviour's  love. 
To  Afric's  regions  fly; 
0  haste,  and  let  compassion  move, 
For  millions  doomed  to  die. 

Blessed  Jesus,  who  for  these,  hath  bled. 
Wilt  thou  the  captives  free; 
And  Ethiopia,  too,  shall  spread 
Her  ransomed  hands  to  thee. 


6S 


THE  TOMB  OF  JESUS. 


The  Mcssulmen  tn  Palestine  havk  takes  possession  of  thi 
Holy  Sepulchre  nr  Jerusalem ;  and  the  Abbe  Forbix  Jaxson 
has  proceeded  to  coxstaxtixople,  to  reclaim  from  the 
Grand  Seigxor  the  keeping  of  the  Tomb  of  Jesus.  It  pro- 
duces AX  ANNUAL   INCOME  OF  §260,000. 


On  Shinah's  plain,  where  David's  gem  appeared, 
The  star  that  walked  yon  bright  serene  alone, 
Whose  mystic  ray  the  Bethlehem  shepherds  cheered 
While  angel-bands  in  blessed  effulgence  shone, 
With  radiance  (laming  from  the  ethereal  throne; 
On  Shinah's  plain,  where  Siioa's  fountains  rise, 
Whose   murmuring  stream  glides   mournful   now,  and 

lone, 
The  holy  pilgrim  from  afar  descries 
The  Tomb  of  Jesus,  Lord  Supreme  of  earth  and  skies. 

'Twas  there  the  Ancient  of  Eternal  Day, 
The  blest  Immanuel,  slumbered  in  the  grave; 
He  whose  right  arm,  enclothed  with  awful  sway, 
To  countless  worlds  their  form  and  being  gave, 
6* 


66 

When  chaos  reigned  and  shoreless  was  the  wave. 

5Tis  hallowed  ground — proclaim  it  not — for  there 

Is  crime; — Calvary,  polluted  by  the  Islam  slave; 

A  scathing  curse  for  him  will  wrath  prepare, 

And  bolts  in  heaven  for  those  who  the  dark  traffic  share. 

0  soon  may  Shiloh  bless  the  fated  land, 

The  unhallowed  crescent  there  be  seen  no  more; 

The  lawless  wanderer,  and  Arabia's  band, 

Forsake  their  prophet,  and  the  cross  adore, 

While  songs  of  joy  resound  on  Jordan's  shore. 

Soon  may  the  banner  of  our  Jesus  wave 

On  glittering  heights,  where  lofty  minarets  soar; 

Nations  confess  that  He  who  died  to  save, 

The  blessed  Messiah,  lives  and  reigns  for  evermore. 

Jult,  1818. 


87 


ON 


\  TSITING  THE    SCENES 
OF  CHILDHOOD. 


Hail,  former  scenes  of  childhood's  early  day, 
When  peaceful  joys  beguiled  my  infant  hours; 
These  youthful  scenes  demand  a  tuneful  lay, 
Assist,  O  Muse,  with  all  thy  artless  powers. 

Hail,  dear  abode;  I  love  the  well  known  place, 
Where  hours  of  bliss  on  downy  pinions  flew; 
Here  by-past  years,  with  pensive  thought  I  trace, 
For  here  was  peace,  here  happiness  I  knew. 

Beneath  that  elm,  which  spreads  its  rural  shade 
In  native  grandeur  o'er  the  smiling  plain, 
My  early  vows  to  tender  love  I  paid, 
Nor  knew  of  care,  nor  thought  of  future  pain. 


68 

See  yonder  stream  whose  gentle  current  flows, 
Calm  and  secure,  from  every  threatening  storm, 
Pure  as  that  stream  are  joys  which  youth  bestows, 
No  grief  disturbs,  and  each  fond  hope  is  warm. 


Ye  scenes  of  sweet,  and  hallowed  early  peace, 
Your  halcyon  hours  I  view  with  pleasing  pain; 
They  quickly  flew,  and  saw  my  joys  increase, 
For  then  contentment  owned  its  happy  reign: 
Fled  are  those  hours,  those  hours  to  me  so  dear, 
And  naught  is  left  but  memory  and  a  tear. 

August,  1814. 


69 


Is  it  in  wealth?  Go,  probe  the  breast 
Of  fortune's  sumptuous  heir: 
Ah,  why  doth  secret  wo  infest, 
And  anguish  canker  there? 

Is  it  in  fame?  Her  empty  breath, 
Inconstant  as  the  breeze, 
Will  blast,  anon,  the  laurel  wreath 
That  late  it  formed  to  please. 

Is  it  in  friendship,  or  in  love? 
Alas,  they  quick  decay: 
The  tears  of  hapless  sorrow  prove 
How  frail  this  boasted  stay. 

'Tis  not  in  all  that  here  excels, 
'Tis  not  in  folly's  round; 
But  with  Immanuel's  love  it  dwells. 
And  there  alone  is  found. 


70 


CLOSE  OF  THE  WEEK. 


While  the  solemn  note  of  Time 
Warns  me  of  his  hasty  tread; 
While  the  silent  march  of  days 
Tells — "  another  week  hath  fled;" 
While  the  hum  of  busy  toil, 
Works  of  care,  and  labour  cease; 
While  the  six  days'  weary  strife 
Yields  to  holy,  welcome  peace, 

Let  me  all  the  past  review: 
Much  hath  heaven  bestowed  on  me, 
Much  have  I  to  folly  given; 
God  !  what  have  I  done  for  thee  ? 

Nearer  to  my  final  hour, 
Ami  sealed  with  Jesus'  blood? 
Nearer  to  eternity,    . 
Am  I  nearer  to  my  God? 
Hasten,  pilgrim,  on  thy  way, 
Gird  thee  at  the  martyr's  shrine; 
Hasten,  pilgrim — why  delay? 
Immortality  is  thine. 


71 


STANZAS, 


OCCASIONED  BY  THE  DEATH  OF  MR.  A T- 

OF  PORTSMOUTH,  N.  H* 


There  is  a  grief,  that  grief  is  holy, 
For  those  that  blessed  in  Jesus  die: 
Religion  calms  the  melancholy, 
And  smooths  the  pillow  where  they  lie. 

There  is  a  sweet,  a  soothing  sadness 
For  those  whom  we  shall  see  no  more; 
Yet  mellowed,  'tis  allied  to  gladness, 
For  every  toil  and  tear  is  o'er. 

And  why  should  the  survivers  weep, 
When  those  beloved,  from  pain  are  free? 
Why  murmur  when  they  cross  the  deep 
That  shadows  forth  eternity? 


7* 

Hath  not  their  Saviour  trod  the  way, 
By  his  own  word  confirmed  them  blest? 
"  From  henceforth  sacred  be  their  clay, 
"  Yea,  saith  the  spirit,  for  they  rest." 

Ye  murmurs,  hush;  complaints,  be  still; 
We  would  not,  dare  not,  Lord,  repine; 
Thou  mad'st  us  for  thy  perfect  will, 
Friends  and  affections,  all  are  Thine. 

Yet,  chastened,  while  we  bow  before  thee, 
With  resignation  own  thee  just, 
And  humbly  yield  thy  own  unto  thee, 
Forgive  the  tear  that  dews  the  dust. 

We  mourn,  when  recollected  worth 
Is  to  the  closing  tomb  consigned; 
The  stay  of  age,  the  guide  of  youth, 
Is,  silently,  with  earth  enshrined. 

We  triumph,  for  the  fatal  sting 
Subdued,  is  past:  removed  is  pain; 
Faith  doth  the  holy  solace  bring, 
M  Our  loss  is  his  eternal  gain." 

We  triumph,  for  the  grave  unsealing, 
Shall  one  day  yield,  what  now  is  sown: 
Jesus,  his  glorious  power  revealing, 
Will  rouse  the  dust  and  call  his  own. 


73 


^VEEP  NOT. 


Weep  not,  when  sad  distress  is  nigh, 
When  bliss  and  transient  pleasures  fly; 
When  earthly  blessings  droop  and  fade, 
When  all  is  wrapt  in  sorrow's  shade. 

Weep  not,  when  death  with  cruel  dart, 
Pierces  some  idol  of  the  heart; 
When  hallowed  friendship  decks  the  bier, 
When  tender  love  would  claim  the  tear. 

Weep  not,  for  as  the  morning  cloud, 
Doth  nature's  radiant  smiles  enshroud; 
But  scatters  soon; — these  gloomy  woes. 
Shall  flee,  and  all  be  calm  repose. 

7 


74 

Weep  not,  for  as  the  floweret  fair, 
Is  crushed  with  winter's  blighting  air; 
Pressed  rudely  down,  it  droops  its  head, 
And  all  its  varied  hues  are  fled: 

With  opening  spring,  its  bloom  revives; 
Again,  the  beauteous  floweret  lives; 
Thus,  when  life's  wintry  storms  are  o'er, 
The  friend  revives,  to  die  no  more. 


37 


DECAY  OF  SPRING 


Fair,  blooming  Spring,  appears  with  smile  serene; 

All  nature  beams  with  innocence  and  love: 

No  more  stern  winter  glooms  the  opening  sky, 

The  frigid  north  receives  its  hoary  sire. 

Now  man  walks  forth  to  taste  the  fragrant  breeze 

At  early  morn,  ere  Phoebus'  burning  ray 

Sips  the  chaste  dew  that  gems  the  blushing  flower. 

0  how  his  soul  expands  with  thrilling  joy; 

With  eager  bound,  he,  blithesome,  treads  the  lawn, 

While  grateful  praise  his  ardent  bosom  warms. 

Sweet  are  the  joys  of  Flora's  happy  reign, 
When  rural  pleasure  smiles;  but  soon  the  hour 
Will  come,  nor  shall  delay,  when  that  fair  Spring 
Whose  virgin  charms  the  raptured  harp  hath  told, 
Shall  quick  recede,  yea,  flee  as  fast  away 
As  the  bright  meteor  of  a  lowering  sky, 
Or  as  fond  dreams  when  youthful  fancy  leads, 
Whispering  of  peace,  while  memory  wakes  to  tears. 
All,  all  will  flee,  these  flowers  will  fade  away, 


76 

Urged  on  by  time  the  halcyon  moments  fly, 
In  the  dark  region  of  eternal  night 
Shall  they  be  lost,  while  man  alone  survives. 
0  then  how  wise,  how  blessed  supremely  he 
Who  views,  beyond  the  narrow  bounds  of  Time, 
The  happy  realms  of  pure  ethereal  joy; 
When  earth  shall  flee,  and  skies  dissolve  away, 
This  soul  shall  anchor  on  the  peaceful  shore: 
No  raging  storm,  no  blighting  winter  there; 
For  calm  is  Heaven,  and  love  divine  shall  prove 
The  smiling  dawn  of  an  eternal  Spring. 


77 


I  LOVE  THE  BLUSH 


I  love  the  blush  of  early  morn, 
That  beams  with  rosy  hue; 
When  sparkling  o'er  the  verdant  lawn, 
It  gems  the  crystal  dew. 

'Tis  then  I  muse  on  Mary's  smile, 
Which  dimpling  bright  and  fair, 
Dark  sorrow's  ills  can  e'en  beguile, 
And  charm  each  latent  care. 

I  love  the  mildly  pensive  ray, 
That  lonely  twilight  cheers: 
When  gleaming  'mid  the  close  of  day. 
It  shines  through  evening's  tears. 

'Tis  then  fond  memory,  whispering  says,, 
While  throbs  my  bosom  move, 
That  such  is  Mary's  tender  gaze, 
And  such  her  glance  of  love. 


7* 


78 


ffiffieaisfSBTC 


The  shadowy  reign  of  time  had  passed  away, 

Systems  had  fled,  and  suns  illumed  no  more; 

The  starry  gems  were  lost  in  radiant  day, 

The  last  shrill  trump  had  waked  the  distant  shore; 

Its  clang  had  ceased,  and  silence  was  in  heaven. 

I  saw  the  marshalled  cordon  of  the  sky, 

In  glittering  ranks,  bestud  the  trackless  plain; 

The  tomb's  pale  monarch  bound  in  chains  stood  by, 

The  prince  of  darkness,  with  his  powers,  was  nigh; 

While  ransomed  myriads  swelled  the  countless  train. 

»7r  tP  "Jr  tt  *ff  ▼*  *9r  it* 

I  saw  the  scroll —  *         *  * 

Endless  duration  never  can  unfold. 

Dread  Uncreate — The  life  of  Deity  was  there. 

Its  awful  signet  shall  remain  untold; 

No  strains  in  heaven  may  tell,  no  curse  in  hell  shall  dare 

The  dreadful  years  of  dark  Eternity  declare. 


79 


IMPROMPTU, 

Occasioned  by  the  rejection  of  the  bile,  recently  introduced 
into  the  House  of  Delegates  of  Maryland,  to  alter  thk 
Constitution  so  as  to  place  the  Jews  on  an  eq.ual  footing 
wtth  the  Christians,  as  it  regards  political  rights. 


What,  still  reject  the  fated  race, 
Thus  long  denied  repose; 
What,  madly  striving  to  efface, 
The  rights  that  heaven  bestows? 

Say,  flows  not  in  each  Jewish  vein, 
Unfettered  by  control, 
A  tide  as  pure,  as  free  from  stain, 
As  warms  the  Christian's  soul? 

Do  ye  not  yet  the  times  discern, 
That  these  shall  cease  to  roam; 
That  Shiloh,  pledged  for  their  return. 
Will  bring  his  ransomed  home? 

Be  error  quick  to  darkness  hurled, 
No  more  with  hate  pursue; 
For  He,  who  died  to  save  a  world. 
Immanuel — was  a  Jew. 


80 


TO 


THE  DOVE. 


Sweet  warbler  of  the  painted  vest. 
In  nature's  fair  luxuriance  drest; 
The  fondest  of  the  plumaged  throng, 
The  lonely  bird  of  plaintive  song. 


The  condar  vast,  the  wren  minute, 
The  pheasant  gay,  the  falcon  brute, 
Though  bold  or  pleasing  to  the  eye, 
Can  ne'er  with  thee,  my  favourite,  vie. 


Thou  claim'st  my  sympathy  and  love; 
For  still  in  some  sequestered  grove, 
Thou  dost  indulge  thy  artless  moan, 
And  lov'st  to  sing  and  sigh  alone. 


81 

Thy  tender  strain  of  hapless  wo 
Oft  bids  the  tear  of  sorrow  flow; 
Thy  note  exceeds  the  touch  of  art, 
Thy  melody  attracts  the  heart. 

Yet  blithe  and  cheerful  is  thy  mien, 
And  halcyon  mirth  with  thee  is  seen: 
Thou  roam'st  at  large,  disporting  free, 
Fidelity  a  trait  of  thee. 


8,2 


VEKSES, 


IN  MEMORY    OF  MR.   W.    K.    L.   OF   MASSACHUSETTS. 

WHO  DIED  ON  THE  COAST  OF  AFRICA,  1820,  AGED  29. 


To  him  by  tempests  driven, 
Whom  earthly  blessings  fly; 
The  heart  with  anguish  riven, 
How  sweet  it  is  to  die. 

Friend  of  my  youth,  adieu! 
Peace  to  thy  sleeping  clay; 
For  tears  were  thine,  and  few 
The  flowers  to  cheer  thy  way. 

Thou  slumberest  where  no  more 
The  wear\  are  oppressed; 
The  storm  with  thee  is  o'er, 
And  tranquil  is  thy  rest. 

Snatched  from  the  angry  billow, 
When  death  stood  near,  wast  thou:* 
Yet  thou  hast  made  thy  pillow, 
Upon  the  cold  earth  now. 

*  He  had  been  recently  shipwrecked. 


83 

No  mother  sorrowed  o'er  thee, 
No  father  gave  the  tear; 
No  sister  to  deplore  thee, 
Or  deck  thy  lonely  bier. 

The  Siroc  sweeps  thy  grave; 
Around  thee,  night-kings  cry; 
Naught  but  the  moaning  wave, 
Responds  the  desert's  sigh. 

Yet  hallowed  be  thy  slumbers, 
Child  of  affliction  stern; 
And  softly  breathe  the  numbers 
That  consecrate  thy  urn. 

Thy  heart,  by  fate  severe, 
Though  torn,  was  pity's  shrine: 
Thou  gav'st  the  secret  tear 
For  other  woes  than  thine. 

Friend  of  my  youth,  adieu! 
Thou  haiPst  another  shore; 
Where  hope  is  ever  true, 
Where  tears  are  found  no  more. 


8+ 


MISSION  TO  JERUSALEM. 


A  MISSION  HAS  BEEN  SENT  FROM  AMERICA  TO  JERUSALEM.  AFTER 
AGES  OF  DARKNESS,  THE  LIGHT  OF  THE  GOSPEL  IS  ABOUT  TO  RE-IL- 
LUMINE THE  SHORES  OF  PALESTINE. 


Long  hath  the  crescent's  glittering  sign, 
On  Salem's  temple  shone, 
Long  hath  Jehovah's  awful  shrine, 
Stood  desolate  and  lone. 


The  tents  of  Midian  tribes  unblest, 
On  Shinah's  plains  have  spread; 
The  wanderer's  foot  hath  rudely  prest 
The  soil  where  Jesus  bled. 


But  Shiloh  comes  to  bless  the  land, 
And  Israel's  tribes  restore; 
Lo,  Edom,  with  Assyria's  band, 
On  Calvary  shall  adore. 


85 

Fair  Lebanon  shall  hear  his  voice, 
And  lands  where  Jordan  flows, 
With  Sharon's  desert,  shall  rejoice, 
And  blossom  as  the  rose. 

No  more  shall  Zion's  daughter  mourn, 
Nor  captive  Judah  sigh; 
Jehovah  shall  her  walls  adorn, 
And  bring  his  ransomed  nigh.* 

*Andthe  ransomed  of  the  Lord  shall  return,  and  come  to  Zion 
•vith  songs;  and  sorrow  and  sighing-  shall  flee  away. 

Isaiah, 


80 


FAIR  IS  THE  SCENE. 


Fair  is  the  scene  when  the  mists  of  the  morning, 
Chased  o'er  the  mountains,  fly  quickly  away; 
Rich  is  the  view  when  the  faint  blush  of  dawning, 
Brightening,  discloses  the  empire  of  day. 

Splendid  the  pomp  when  the  glad  beam  advancing, 
Illumines  with  glory  its  march  through  the  sky; 
Gilding  the  landscape,  its  beauties  enhancing, 
As  it  flings  o'er  creation  its  deep  azure  dye. 

Chaste  is  the  ray  when  the  night  star  is  gleaming, 
Lovely  and  lone  in  its  orbit  of  blue; 
Mild  is  the  halo  when  Cynthia  beaming, 
Mellows  the  shade  with  her  silvery  hue. 

Dear  are  these  charms,  and  this  bosom  will  ever 
Own,  with  devotion,  their  magic  to  please; 
But  ne'er  while  there's  truth  be  forgetful,  0  never, 
That  the  smile  of  affection  is  sweeter  than  these. 


87 


DEATH  OF  ST.  CLAIR. 


Tis  done;  no  more  shall  valour  crave 
The  pittance  due  to  veteran  fame; 
'Tis  done;  the  lowly,  peaceful  grave 
Hath  sealed  the  hoary  warrior's  claim. 

The  solemn  pomp,  the  decent  sigh 
Bespeak  the  mournful  pageant's  gloom; 
St.  Clair's  great  soul  with  scornful  eye 
Surveys  the  mockery  of  the  tomb. 

Yet,  sainted  shade,  in  future  day 
Shall  tears  of  pure  affection  flow; 
And  nobler  hearts  the  tribute  pay, 
That  envy  never  could  bestow. 

But  now,  let  Fame  no  trumpet  swell, 
Nor  Muse  the  laurel  wreath  entwine; 
For  these,  St.  Clair,  alone  will  tell, 
That  naught  but  misery  here  was  thine. 


88 


STANZAS. 


"  TO  WH03I  SHALL  WE  GO,  BUT  TO  THEE?" 

When  rankling  sorrows  wound  the  soul, 
And  cares  invade  the  breast; 
When  distant  seems  the  blissful  goal 
Of  peace  and  lasting  rest: 

Where  shall  the  mourning  wanderer  go, 
Where  shall  the  sufferer  fly; 
What  balm  can  heal  corroding  wo, 
Whose  hand  those  tears  can  dry? 

Say,  shall  he  seek  in  sounding  fame 
A  cure  for  bitter  care; 
Can  echoing  praise,  or  honour's  name, 
Beguile  the  soul's  despair? 

Will  grandeur,  with  its  dazzling  lure, 
Bestow  a  kind  relief; 
Can  pageant  pomp,  and  pride,  ensure 
A  balm  for  mental  grief? 


89 

Doth  pleasure,  with  bewitching  guile, 
Invite  him  to  her  arms? 
Too  soon  he  finds  the  glance  and  smile 
Are  cursed,  deceitful  charms. 

Where  shall  the  mourning  wanderer  go. 
0  where  the  sufferer  fly  ? 
What  balm  can  heal  corroding  wo, 
Whose  hand,  those  tears  can  dry? 

Blessed  Saviour,  'tis  to  thee  alone 
He  flies,  with  anguish  prest; 
For  thou  canst  soothe  the  captive's  moan* 
And  give  the  weary  rest. 


8* 


90 


THE  JEWISH  RETURN. 


Lo,  Judah's  courts  in  sadness  mourn, 
For  Judah's  rites  are  stained; 
Her  shrines  with  idol  incense  burn, 
Her  altars  are  profaned: 
The  temple's  pride  is  cast  abroad, 
The  priests  and  virgins  fled, 
And  gone,  the  glory  of  the  Lord, 
Which  through  the  holiest  shed. 

The  thistle  blooms  where  Zion's  wall 

Defied  the  Assyrian  band; 

The  ruined  fragments  tottering,  fall, 

The  scorn  of  Edom's  land: 

Yet,  saith  the  Lord,  my  mighty  arm 

Shall  raise  her  ruins  high,* 

My  vengeance  shall  th  e  foes  disarm, 

That  Israel's  God  deny. 

*  "  The  Lord  shall  gather  Jerusalen>— he  shall  build  the  waste 
places  of  Zion." 


91 

From  distant  lands  and  nations,  where 

The  tribes  in  bondage  roam, 

They  shall  return,  forget  despair, 

And  shout  the  ransomed  home: 

In  Zion,  on  my  solemn  day, 

With  songs  shall  they  adore; 

And  tears  and  sighs  shall  flee  away, 

And  sorrow  be  no  more. 


92 


VERSES, 


TO    AN    INTKItESTlJTG    TOUJTG    LADY,    DEAF    AND    JU'.MB. 


Weep  not,  maiden,  that  thou  never 
Canst  thy  ardent  love  express; 
Weep  not  fate  from  thee  doth  sever, 
All  that  would  affection  bless. 

Wouldst  thou  strive  to  lighten  sorrow? 
5Tis  the  sigh  thy  breast  will  free; 
Wouldst  thou  soothing  accents  borrow? 
All  our  tears  we  give  to  thee. 

Though  like  some  sweet  budding  flower, 
Which  the  blush  of  morn  displayed, 
Pressed  by  evening's  rudest  shower, 
Each  loved  beauty  seems  to  fade. 

Yet  the  orb  of  glory  risen, 
Bids  the  floweret  droop  no  more: 
Thus  the  cheering  dawn  of  heaven 
All  thy  graces  shall  restore. 


93 


PROTECTING  PROVIDENCE. 


The  power  that  formed  yon  worlds  of  flame, 
That  guides  the  systems  in  their  way, 
Is  kind,  and  Mercy  is  his  name, 
Is  good,  and  bounteous  is  his  sway. 

He  spake  those  rolling  orbs  to  birth, 
Is  not  his  sovereign  wisdom  free? 
His  powerful  arm  sustains  this  earth, 
Mortal !  shall  he  not  look  on  thee  ? 

To  him,  ascend  from  viewless  space 
The  ether  notes  of  choral  praise; 
Shall  not  our  breathings  claim  a  place, 
"Will  he  disdain  our  humble  lays? 


94 

To  him,  burn  countless  shrines  of  heaven, 
While  the  veiled  cherub  shares  a  part; 
Will  he  not  bless  our  offerings  given, 
The  incense  of  a  contrite  heart? 

Then  why,  O  trembler!  why  these  fears? 
Why  shrink  at  the  chastising  rod; 
Mourn,  mourn  in  penitential  tears, 
But  doubt  no  more  a  righteous  God. 


95 


VETERAN  TRIBUTE. 


Several  officers  of  the  revolution*  being  lately  at  the  seat 
of  goterxmkxt,  iif.soi.vki)  to  visit  mount  vernon,  and  pay 
Turin  sin  TRIBUTE  at  the  tomb  of  thkir  lamented  copatriot 

AND    COMMANDER;     AFFORDING    AN     INTERESTING    SUBJECT  OF     RE- 
FLECTION TO  ALL  WHO  REVERE  THE  MEMORY  OF  WASHINGTON. 


Where  deep  Potomac  rolls  its  silver  stream, 
And  glides  majestic  with  its  watery  gleam, 
Remote  from  scenes  where  commerce  loves  to  dwell, 
And  far  from  din,  by  yonder  peaceful  dell, 
Vernon,  majestic,  rears  its  lofty  brow, 
In  simple  grandeur,  o'er  the  plain  below. 
Hail,  sacred  spot!  to  freedom  ever  dear, 
Ye  votaries,  come,  and  drop  the  tender  tear; 
Here  sleep  the  relics,  that  have  once  enshrined 
The  immortal  lustre  of  a  .heavenly  mind. 

No  longer,  Vernon,  smile  thy  roseate  bowers, 
Lost  is  the  fragrance  of  thy  blooming  flowers; 
Mute  are  the  warblers  of  thy  silent  groves, 
And  hushed  the  carols  of  their  early  loves; 


96 

A  solemn  awe  reigns  through  the  hallowed  ground, 
And  all  is  wrapt  in  solitude  profound, 
The  guardian,  saviour,  of  his  country  sleeps, 
And  freedom's  genius,  here,  her  vigil  keeps. 
*         #         #         # 
Lo,  at  his  shrine  Columbia's  heroes  stand, 
Deep,  sacred  grief  pervades  the  veteran  band, 
No  language  there,  dispels  the  mournful  gloom, 
No  accents  break  the  silence  of  the  tomb; 
Each  labouring  breast  doth  with  emotions  heave, 
Each  heart  surcharged,  the  deep-drawn  sigh  doth  breathe; 
These  speak  his  worth,  these  heartfelt  tributes  show 
A  grief  too  deep  for  kindly  tears  to  flow. 

Ye  hoary  warriors,  calm  your  sacred  grief, 
No  more  lament  your  loved  departed  chief; 
Soon  shall  ye  join  him  in  the  fields  above, 
To  part  no  more,  but  dwell  in  endless  love; 
The  bright  reward  attends  the  faithful  blest, 
Where  falchions  slumber,  and  where  soldiers  rest. 

February,  1818. 


97 


SUFitEfZit 


"  THET  THAT  SOW  IN  TEARS,  SHALL  REAP  IB  JOY. 

There  is  an  hour  of  hallowed  peace, 

For  those  with  cares  distressed, 

When  sighs  and  sorrowing  tears  shall  cease. 

And  all  be  hushed  to  rest: 

'Tis  then  the  soul  is  freed  from  fears, 

And  doubts  that  here  annoy: 

Then  they  that  oft  have  sown  in  tears, 

Shall  reap  again  in  joy. 

There  is  a  home  of  sweet  repose, 
Where  storms  assail  no  more, 
The  stream  of  endless  pleasure  flows 
On  that  celestial  shore: 
There  smiling  peace  with  love  appears, 
And  bliss  without  alloy; 
There  they,  that  once  have  sown  in  tears. 
Now  reap  eternal  joy. 
9 


When  the  revealing  hour  is  near, 

That  shall  unveil  the  tomb; 

When  filled  with  doubt  and  trembling  fear, 

We  pass  the  valley's  gloom: 

Saviour,  calm  thou  our  rising  fears; 

Let  praise  our  lips  employ, 

That  we,  who  here  have  sown  in  tears, 

May  reap  in  heaven  with  joy. 


1)9 


WINTER 


Arrayed  in  gloom,  stern  winter  reigns. 
With  aspect  chill  and  drear; 
The  streams  are  locked  in  icy  chains, 
The  tempest  howls  severe. 

No  more  is  heard  the  songster's  lay, 
That  echoed  through  the  grove; 
The  robin  shuns  the  leafless  spray, 
And  chants  no  more  of  love. 

Yon  orb  emits  a  feeble  gleam, 
That  lingers,  cold  and  lone; 
Its  evanescent,  fitful  beam, 
Proclaims  that  joy  has  flown. 

Emblem  of  life,  all  nature  wears, 
A  robe  of  cheerless  hue; 
The  storms  assail,  like  gloomy  cares, 
As  sad, — as  frequent  too. 


100 

But  soon  these  clouds  shall  disappear. 
The  fields  with  verdure  smile; 
The  bubbling  brook  meander  clear, 
The  robin's  note  beguile. 

The  vernal  showers  shall  dew  the  earth, 
While  genial  suns  illume; 
The  beauteous  flowerets  spring  to  birth, 
And  golden  harvests  bloom. 

Thus,  like  the  rays  of  Winter's  morn, 
That  cheerless  prospects  bring; 
These  gloomy  cares  precede  the  dawn 
Of  an  unfading  spring. 


/ 


101 


THE  SUNDAY  SCHOOL 


When  'mid  the  haunts  of  shame  and  sin, 
We  view  the  child  of  wo; 
What  is  that  sympathy  within, 
Which  bids  compassion  flow? 

'Tis  gentle  Pity's  melting  voice, 

In  accents  whispering  mild, 

That  prompts  the  feeling  mind  to  haste, 

And  save  the  hapless  child. 

Affection  strives  with  earnest  love, 
Its  footsteps  to  reclaim; 
And  bring  the  wanderer  home,  to  prove 
The  worth  of  Jesus'  name. 

Thus,  when  amid  some  desert  scene, 

Where  naught  the  traveller  cheers; 

Half  hid  by  plants  of  savage  mien, 

The  lonely  flower  appears: 
94 


102 

Its  sweets  his  raptured  sense  beguile, 
With  charms  of  native  zest; 
He  gently  plucks,  and,  with  a  smile, 
Conveys  it  to  his  breast. 

As  tender  plants  of  varied  hue, 
In  Flora's  dress  arrayed, 
Require  the  warmth,  and  early  dew. 
With  rich,  and  kindly  aid — 

Thus,  Lord,  these  plants  which  thou  hast  sown, 

Require  thy  grace  divine; 

The  glorious  work  is  all  thy  own. 

The  increase  shall  be  thine, 


103 


CHILESE  WARRIOR'S  SONG 


Hark,  comrades,  hark,  the  trumpet's  swell 

Proclaims  the  note  of  war; 
The  death-drum  roll  and  bugle  tell 

The  din  of  battle  far: 
To  free  a  bleeding  natal  land 

From  Leon's  galling  chain, 
The  warrior  grasps  the  glittering  brand, 

And  steeps  the  crimsoned  plain; 
While  Plata  rolls  and  Andes  rise, 
Each  Chilese  heart  shall  Freedom  prize. 

Awake,  too  long  has  bondage  hurled 

Its  curse  on  freedom's  soil; 
Awake,  too  long  a  suffering  world 

Has  groaned  with  slavery's  spoil; 
The  deepened  shades  of  slumbering  night 

Enscrolled,  are  rolling  far, 
The  dawn  that  bodes  meridian  light, 

Has  dimmed  the  risen  star; 
While  Plata  rolls  and  Andes  rise, 
Each  Chilese  heart  shall  Freedom  prize. 


104 

Awake,  awake  to  glorious  fight, 

'Tis  home  and  country  calls, 
The  watch-word  sounds,  "Our  God  and  right," 

The  vanquished  foeman  falls. 
'Tis  heaven  approves  the  soldier's  guard, 

In  gory  battle-fray; 
'Tis  virtue  wreaths  a  bright  reward, 

To  crown  the  victor  day; 
While  Plata  rolls  and  Andes  rise, 
Each  Chilese  heart  shall  Freedom  prize. 


105 


THY  WILL  BE  DONE. 


When  sorrow  casts  its  shade  around, 
And  pleasure  seems  our  course  to  shun; 
When  naught  but  grief  and  care  is  found, 
How  sweet  to  say,  u  Thy  will  be  dohe." 

When  sickness  lends  it  pallid  hue, 
And  every  dream  of  bliss  hath  flown; 
When  quickly  from  the  fading  view, 
Recede  the  joys  that  once  were  known; 

The  soul  resigned,  will  still  rejoice, 
Though  life's  last  sand  hath  nearly  run; 
With  humble  faith  and  trembling  voice, 
It  still  responds,  "  Thy  will  be  done." 

When  called  to  mourn  the  early  doom 
Of  one,  affection  held  most  dear; 
While  o'er  the  closing  silent  tomb 
The  bleeding  heart  distils  the  tear; 


106 

Though  love  its  tribute,  sad,  will  pay, 
And  earthly  streams  of  solace  shun, 
Still,  still  the  humbled  soul  will  say, 
In  lowly  dust,  n  Thy  will  be  done." 

Whate'er,  0  Lord,  thou  hast  designed 
To  bring  my  soul  to  thee,  its  trust; 
If  mercies  or  afflictions  kind, 
For  all  thy  dealings,  Lord,  are  just, 

Take  all;  but  grant  in  goodness  free, 
That  love  which  ne'er  thy  stroke  would  shun. 
Support  this  heart,  and  strengthen  me, 
To  say  in  faith,  "  Thy  will  be  done." 


107 


THE  MORNING  STAR. 


I  AM  THE  IIOOT  AND  THE  OFFSPRING  OF  DAVII),  AND  THE  BRIGHT  AND 
MORNING  STAR.       REV.  XXII.   16. 

Benighted  on  the  troublous  main, 
While  stormy  terrors  clothe  the  sky; 
The  trembling  voyager  strives  in  vain, 
And  naught  but  dark  despair  is  nigh; 
When  lo,  a  gem  of  peerless  light, 
With  radiant  splendour  shines  afar; 
And  through  the  clouds  of  darkest  night, 
Appears  the  Bright  and  Morning  Star. 


With  joy  he  greets  the  cheering  ray, 
That  beams  on  ocean's  weary  breast; 
Precursor  of  a  smiling  day, 
It  lulls  his  fears  to  peaceful  rest; 
No  more  in  peril  doth  he  roam, 
For  night  and  danger,  now  are  far; 
With  steady  helm  he  enters  home, 
His  guide  the  Bright  and  Morning  Star. 


108 

Thus  when  affliction's  billows  roll, 
And  waves  of  sorrow  and  of  sin, 
Beset  the  fearful,  weeping  soul, 
And  all  is  dark  and  drear  within: 
'Tis  Jesus,  whispering  strains  of  peace, 
Drives  every  doubt  and  fear  afar; 
He  bids  the  raging  tempest  cease, 
And  shines  the  Bright  and  Morning  Star, 


109 


REDEMPTION. 


ARISE,    SHIVE,    FOR    THY    LIGHT    IS    COME.    Isa.    lx.  1 

Hark,  'tis  the  prophet  of  the  skies 
Proclaims  Redemption  near; 
The  night  of  death  and  bondage  flies, 
The  dawning  tints  appear. 

Zion,  from  deepest  shades  of  gloom, 
Awakes  to  glorious  day; 
Her  desert  wastes  with  verdure  bloom, 
Her  shadows  flee  away. 

To  heal  her  wounds,  her  night  dispel, 
The  heralds*  cross  the  main; 
On  Calvary's  awful  brow  they  tell, 
That  Jesus  lives  again. 

"Missionaries  to  Palestine- 
10 


110 

From  Salem's  towers  the  Islam  sign, 
With  holy  zeal  is  hurled, 
'Tis  there  Immanuel's  symbols  shine, 
His  banner  is  unfurled. 


The  gladdening  news  conveyed  afar, 
Remotest  nations  hear; 
To  welcome  Judah's  rising  star, 
The  ransomed  tribes  appear. 

Again,  in  Bethlehem  swells  the  song, 
The  choral  breaks  again; 
While  Jordan's  shores  the  strains  prolong, 
M Good- will,  and  peace  to  men!" 


Ill 


STANZAS. 


Not  dogmas  of  a  hidden  age 
Compose  Religion's  creed; 
Not  Superstition's  gloomy  page, 
Stained  with  some  barbarous  deed. 

Not  he,  indulging  vain  pretence, 
Who  boasts  the  impulse  given; 
Not  he  that  dares  Omnipotence, 
Can  hope  to  enter  heaven. 

The  careless,  and  the  mad  profane, 
Possess  no  holy  calm; 
The  heart  that  holds  Religion  vain 
Can  never  taste  its  balm. 

But  he  is  blessed,  whose  thoughts  arc  still 
From  proud  presumption  free; 
Who  loves  mankind,  and  doth  fulfil 
That  precept,  Lord,  to  thee. 


112 
IMPROMPTU, 

OCCASIONED  BY  THE  DEATH  OF  HENRY  JANSKN,  E8<^ 


Jansen,  the  wish  was  thine,  to  view 

His  Court  whose  trophy  is  the  tomb; 

To  scan  the  scenes  that  genius  true 

Hath  sketched  with  more  than  fancy's  gloom. 

Fate  heard  the  prayer,  'twas  worthy  one 
Longing  for  immortality; 
And  suddenly,  thy  labour  done, 
Called  thee  to  dread  reality. 

Yet  shall  not  terror  o'er  thee  rule, 
Nor  death  retain  his  boasted  prize; 
His  court  was  but  the  vestibule 
That  led  thee  to  thy  native  skies. 


*  This  gentleman  having  purchased  a  ticket  of  admission  to 
Pealc's  Painting  of  "the  Court  of  Death,"  exhibiting  in  the 
Capitol  at  Albany,  while  in  the  act  of  crossing  the  threshold 
leading  to  the  room,  fell  down  and  instantly  expired. 


113 


WHY  WEEPEST  THOU? 


Doth  gloomy  fate,  with  sullen  frown 

Consume  thy  soul  with  care? 
Hast  thou  the  draught  of  misery  known 

Whose  dregs  are  dark  despair? 
Art  thou  oppressed  with  sorrow's  doom, 

Thy  heart  with  anguish  torn? 
0,  soon  that  sad  and  cheerless  gloom 

Shall  wake  a  brighter  morn. 
Then  why  should  sorrow  wring  thy  brow? 
Say,  mourner,  say,  "  why  weepest  thou?" 

Doth  tender  love  bedeck  the  bier, 

Is  dust  with  dust  inurned? 
Has  one,  affection  prized  so  dear, 

To  heaven  and  God  returned? 
The  beauteous  flower,  that  charms  the  eye, 

And  decks  the  smiling  plain, 
With  winter's  blast,  doth  fade,  and  die, 

But  dies  to  bloom  again; 

Then  why  should  sorrow  wring  thy  browr 

Say  mourner,  say,  "  why  weepest  thou  ?" 
10* 


114 


THE 

SOUTH  AMERICAN'S  HYMN. 


Hark,  hark,  I  hear  the  hallow  sound 
Borne  soft  on  Zephyr's  swell; 
Symphonious  accents  murmuring  round, 
From  yonder  vesper  bell. 

At  Panma's  shrine  with  Ave-Marie, 
Their  beads  the  sisters  tell; 
They  bless  the  sacred  rosary 
At  sound  of  vesper  bell. 

The  choral  wakes  the  virgin  song, 
In  strains  that  wo  dispel; 
It  mingles  with  devotion's  throng, 
Called  by  the  vesper  bell. 

How  sweet  the  thrilling  chant  of  praise, 
How  rich  the  vocal  swell; 
How  blessed  the  solemn  vow  to  raise, 
At  hallowed  vesper  bell. 


lid 

And  while  we  bend  with  kindling  love, 
Doth  not  some  whisper  tell, 
That  'mid  the  vaulted  arch  above 
Is  heard  the  vesper  bell? 

Yes,  well  we  know,  before  that  shrine 
Whose  flame  doth  night  dispel, 
The  Cherub  bows  with  joy  divine, 
At  holy  vesper  bell. 


116 


TO  THE  NORTH  STAB 


Bright  Star,  while  thou  thy  lonely  way 

Pursu'st  in  yon  expanse  of  blue, 
Thy  gem-like  form  and  steady  ray 

Attract  the  heedless  peasant's  view, 
And  his,  whose  thoughts  to  unknown  regions  stray. 

Full  oft  the  wanderer,  fortune's  child, 
Benighted,  sad,  and  doomed  to  roam, 

Beholds  with  joy  thy  aspect  mild, 
That  tells  of  happiness  and  home, 

And  guides  him  onward  'mid  the  trackless  wild. 

Oft,  too,  the  sea-boy  marks  thy  beam, 
When  ocean  sleeps  in  peaceful  calm; 

While  o'er  its  breast  thy  gentle  gleam 
Plays  wanton,  and  with  sacred  charm 

Lulls  the  wrapt  soul  in  fancy's  pleasing  dream. 


117 

And  oft,  sweet  Star,  at  even-tide, 

When  all  around  is  hushed  to  rest, 
My  thoughts  ascend,  and  pensive  glide 

To  distant  climes  and  regions  blest, 
Where  wo-worn  care  and  grief  would  gladly  hide. 

And  fancy  whispers  in  mine  ear, 

That  those  who  once  were  here  beloved, 

To  friendship  and  affection  dear, 

Now  from  this  fleeting  scene  removed, 

Repose,  bright  Star,  in  thy  ethereal  sphere, 


118 


THOU  SIT'ST,  0  GOD 


Thou  sit'st,  0  God,  enthroned  on  high, 
In  viewless  splendour  rayed; 
Before  the  lustre  of  thine  eye 
The  brightest  glories  fade. 

Though  thou  art  high,  yet  thou  dost  hear 
The  lowly  suppliant's  moan; 
Though  thou  art  great,  each  secret  tear 
Begems  thy  radiant  throne. 

When  shafts  of  anguish  wound  the  soul, 
Thy  healing  balm  is  nigh; 
When  tempests  rise,  and  billows  roll, 
To  thee,  alone,  we  fly. 


Then  hush,  dark  sorrow's  weeping  child, 
Tossed  on  life's  troublous  sea, 
In  strains  of  peace  he  whispers  mild, 
"  Fear  not,  for  I'm  with  thee." 


119 


STANZAS. 


is  it  not  a  little  one. — Gen.  xix.  20. 

Of  all  the  varied  cheats  in  Jife, 
To  which  misguided  mortals  run, 
There's  none  with  sorer  evils  rife, 
Than  "Is  it  not  a  little  one?" 

When  strong  allurement  leads  astray, 
How  fair  the  web  by  flattery  spun, 
The  ready  opiate  smooths  the  way, 
Sure  "  Is  it  not  a  little  one?" 

Curst  avarice,  to  itself  unkind, 
Would  e'en  life's  needed  blessings  shun, 
And  hoarding  pelf,  deceives  the  mind, 
With  "  Is  it  not  a  little  one?" 

The  youth,  debauched  in  folly's  maze, 
Health,  fame,  and  fortune,  all  undone, 
Too  late  the  whispering  cheat  betrays, 
Of  "Is  it  not  a  little  one?" 


120 

Intemperance,  murdering  life,  and  soul. 
Would  fain  reflection's  moment  shun; 
And  says,  replenishing  the  bowl, 
Sure  "  Is  it  not  a  little  one?" 

Beguiled  by  love's  seducive  strain, 
The  hapless  maiden  is  undone; 
While  listening  to  the  falsehood  vain, 
Of  "Is  it  not  a  little  one?" 

Beware  fond  youth,  its  fell  control, 
This  fatal  source  of  ruin  shun; 
Reflect  in  time,  nor  cheat  the  soul, 
With  "Is  it  not  a  little  one?" 


1SI 


CAPTIVE  JEWESS 


A  Jewish  lady  of  exquisite  beauty,  had  with  her  husband  been 
taken  captive  by  the  Saracen  commander  of  a  fleet  cruising  on 
the  coast  of  Palestine.  The  brutal  captain  being  about  to 
commit  violence  on  her  person,  she  called  to  her  husband,  who 
was  within  hearing,  but  in  chains,  and  asked  him  in  Hebrew, 
whether  they  who  were  drowned  in  the  sea  should  revive  at 
the  resurrection  of  the  dead?  He  replied  in  the  words  of 
Psalm  lxvii.  22.  "  The  Lord  said,  I  will  bring  again  from  Rasan, 
I  will  bring  from  the  depths  of  the  sea."  Upon  which  she 
immediately  threw  herself  into  the  sea,  and  was  drowned. 


Though  ne'er  for  thee,  on  Shinah's  plain, 
Is  reared  the  sculptured  urn; 
Though  Judah's  harp  ne'er  swells  the  strain, 
Nor  Salem's  daughters  mourn: 

Though  ne'er  shall  minstrel  lyre  of  wo 
Thy  fame  and  virtues  tell; 
Though  ne'er  the  dirge  in  numbers  slow, 
Siall  hymn  thy  parting  knell: 
11 


122 

Yet  softly  rests  thy  weary  head, 
Where  ocean's  flowerets  bloom; 
Beneath  the  deep,  thy  coral  bed, 
Is  virtue's  hallowed  tomb. 

And  oft,  when  eve's  pale  star  alone 
In  sadness  dims  the  wave, 
The  lonely  surge  will  gently  moan 
Its  requiem  o'er  thy  grave. 

Then  rest  in  peace,  and  when  no  more 
The  raging  billows  sleep, 
The  Lord  Jehovah  will  restore, 
And  bring  thee  from  the  deep. 


423 


S©2s3CT3B® 


I  love  at  evening's  silent  tide, 
When  busy  care  hath  flown, 
In  some  sequestered  dell  to  hide, 
And  pensive,  muse  alone. 

'Tis  then  in  solitude  refined, 
Reflection  feels  its  zest; 
'Tis  then  the  contemplative  mind 
With  Reason's  charms  is  blest. 


'Tis  then  the  expanding  soul  ascends, 
And  roves  through  fields  above; 
'Tis  then  the  mystic  Essence  blends 
With  uncreated  love. 


124 

0  Solitude,  thy  soothing  charm 
Can  conquer  fell  despair; 
Can  sad  affliction's  sting  disarm, 
And  banish  every  care. 

While  folly's  votary  shuns  thy  shrine. 
And  grandeur  fears  thy  power; 
Still  be  thy  rich  enjoyments  mine, 
To  bless  life's  fleeting  hour. 


125 


TO   THE   COMET, 


THAT  APPEARED  JULY,  1819. 


Mystic  stranger!  blaze  of  light, 
Messenger  of  good  or  ill; 
Portent  to  the  wondering  sight, 
What  behest  dost  thou  fulfil? 

Dost  thou  tell  of  blight  afar, 

Or  shall  health's  kind  blessings  cease? 

Dost  thou  omen  direful  war, 

Or  confirm  the  notes  of  peace? 

Art  thou  missioned  from  above, 
0,  celestial  herald,  say, 
Dost  thou  bring  the  dawn  of  love, 
Wakening  the  millenial  day? 

Could  we  thus  with  rapture  meet  thee, 
Emanation  of  the  skies, 
How  would  songs  of  triumph  greet  thee, 
How  would  mingling  praises  rise! 
11* 


126 

But  though  Wisdom  hath  denied, 
Finite  skill,  thy  course  to  tell; 
Though  thy  errand's  undescribed, 
Yet  we  know  that  all  is  well. 

He  that  speaks  in  dreadful  thunder, 
Throned  in  power  above  the  sky; 
He,  before  whose  viewless  splendour, 
All  thy  radiant  glories  die: 

He  that  holds  the  bolt  of  heaven, 
Systems,  which  their  course  fulfil, 
He,  whose  glance  all  time  hath  riven, 
God,  will  guard  his  children  still. 

Mystic  orb,  then  urge  thy  flight, 
Soon  thy  meteor-reign  is  o'er, 
While  thou  burn'st,  the  gem  of  night, 
We,  admiring,  God  adore. 


127 


THE  WRECK. 


The  ocean  frowned  darkly,  the  tempest  blew, 
And  the  thunders  heavily  rolled; 
The  billow,  late  trembling  with  cerulean  blue, 
Now  blackening  in  anger  was  scrolled. 

Twas  sad,  for  borne  on  the  echo  of  night, 
Came  the  voice  of  the  furious  blast; 
'Twas  drear,  for  no  ray  lent  its  beacon  light, 
Save  the  lightning  that  fearfully  past. 

'Twas  lonely,  for  naught  could  the  wind-god  descry, 
Save  the  barque  that  breasted  the  foam; 
In  the  moanings  of  midnight,  the  mariner's  cry 
Was  heard,  bewailing  of  home. 

The  fires  of  home  burn  bright,  but  ne'er 
Shall  they  shine  on  the  mariner's  grave; 
The  smiles  of  affection,  the  prattlers  are  there, 
But  the  father — lies  cold  in  the  wave. 


128 


HYMN 


TO  THE  DEPARTED. 


Peaceful  rest,  ye  silent  dead, 
Rest,  ye  weary  wanderers,  rest, 
Gentle  is  your  earthy  bed; 
Quiet  is  the  aching  breast. 

Peaceful  rest,  for  o'er  the  tomb 
Weeping  willows  love  to  wave; 
Rest,  for  Spring's  perennial  bloom 
Clusters  fairest  on  the  grave. 

Rest,  for  life  is  but  a  dream; 
Bliss  is  naught  but  gilded  wo; 
They  that  live  enjoy  the  gleam, 
They  that  slumber  truly  know. 

Rest!  no  sorrow  can  befall  ye, 
Mingle  with  the  valley ''s  clod; 
Rest,  till  nature's  cry  shall  call  ye, 
Call  ye  to  approach  your  God. 


129 


TIS  MIDNIGHT. 


'Tis  midnight,  and  on  Olive's  brow 
The  star  is  dimm'd  that  lately  shone; 
'Tis  midnight;  in  the  garden  now, 
The  suffering  Saviour  prays  alone. 

'Tis  midnight,  and  from  all  removed, 
Immanuel  wrestles,  lone,  with  fears; 
E'en  the  disciple  that  he  loved, 
Heeds  not  his  Master's  grief  and  tears. 

'Tis  midnight,  and  for  other's  guilt 
The  Man  of  Sorrows  weeps  in,  blood; 
Yet  he  that  hath  in  anguish  knelt, 
Is  not  forsaken  by  his  God. 

'Tis  midnight,  and  from  ether  plains, 
Is  borne  the  song  that  angels  know; 
Unheard  by  mortals  are  the  strains 
That  sweetly  sooth  the  Saviour's  w§. 


130 


THE  DUELLIST 


There  is  a  curse, — 'tis  dark  and  fell, 
As  fallen  spirits  know; 
It  rings  affliction's  deepest  knell, 
It  stamps  despairing  wo: 

'Tis  thou,  false  honour,  baleful  fiend, 
That  lur'st  with  secret  guile: 
'Tis  thou,  by  tyrant  custom  screened, 
That  murders  with  a  smile. 

'Tis  thou  that  spurn'st  the  hallowed  ties, 
That  mutual  souls  entwine; 
By  friendship's  hand,  the  victim  dies, 
An  offering  at  thy  shrine. 


131 

The  woes  that  rend  the  widowed  breast, 
And  writhe  with  keen  despair, 
The  sigh  that  speaks  the  heart  oppressed, 
The  hapless  orphan's  tear: 

These  are  thy  triumphs,  honour,  these 
The  trophies  of  thy  fame; 
And  such  the  envied  laurel  wreaths, 
That  cluster  round  thy  name. 


132 


IMMORTALITY. 


What  is  it  cheers  the  aching  breast, 
What  bids  corroding  sorrows  flee? 
What  sooths  the  heart  with  accents  blessed  ? 
'Tis  hope  of  Immortality. 

When  tired  of  this  revolving  span, 
This  painful,  disappointing  round, 
If  asked  of  bliss,  poor  hapless  man 
Responds,  "  on  earth  it  is  not  found." 

For  here,  misfortune's  angry  lour 
Shadows  the  fairest,  brightest  morn; 
And  he  that  crops  the  straggling  flower, 
Is  wounded  with  the  secret  thorn. 

The  fairy  dreams  that  sense  beguile, 
Like  dreams,  how  soon  they  disappear! 
And  who  can  boast,  when  e'en  Love's  smile 
Is  but  the  prelude  to  a  tear? 


133 

What  panacea  blest  shall  cure 

The  soul-disease,  satiety? 

What,  but  the  prospect,  bright,  and  sure, 

Of  pleasing  Immortality? 

Life  is  a  desert,  but  afar 
The  pillar  burns  with  steady  ray; 
And  hope  op  future,  is  the  star 
That  guides  the  wanderer  on  the  way. 

Here  then,  I'll  hold,  and  doubt  disclaim, 
And  while  I  bid  despondence  flee, 
Will,  grateful,  bless  my  Maker's  name, 
For  hope  of  Immortality. 


12 


134 


GALILEE. 


"  AND  HE  AROSE  AND  REBUKED  THE  WIND,  AND  SAID  UNTO 
THE  SEA,  PEACE!  BE  STILL." 

Night  mantles  Judea,  but  the  star  hath  not  shone 

On  thy  bosom,  Galilee; 
The  tempest  is  loud,  yet  the  barque  alone 

Is  labouring  o'er  the  sea; 
The  Master,  entranced,  rides  the  foam  of  the  wave— 
0  say,  shall  its  womb  yield  the  Godhead  a  grave? 

Heeds  not  the  Redeemer  the  thunder's  increase: 
Shall  he  not  the  proud  whirlwind  disarm? 

For  see,  he  hath  gone  to  the  slumbers  of  peace; — 
With  Jesus  all  is  calm: 

By  his  waves  and  his  tempest,  the  Maker  is  tost; 

In  dreams,  beatific,  the  Sleeper  is  lost. 

The  disciple,  in  terror,  hath  sprung  from  his  rest, 

Yet  vain  is  the  shipmen's  skill, 
Till  aroused,  He  of  Nazareth,  proclaims  the  behest, 

"  Ye  billows,  peace,  be  still!" 
The  billows,  obedient,  have  sunk  on  the  shore, 
The  sea  sleeps  in  murmurs,  the  tempest  is  o'er. 


13  5 

0  thus,  when  my  soul  on  life's  ocean  is  tost, 

That  sea  without  a  calm; 
When  faith  shines  but  dimly,  each  hope  is  lost, 

And  all  is  rude  alarm; 
When  the  waves  of  remembrance,  in  mountain-wreaths 

roll, 
When  the  billows  of  sin  have  gone  over  my  soul: 

At  the  Cross  of  the  Sufferer,  while  humbled  to  weep, 

I  mourn  my  stubborn  will, 
Do  thou,  in  compassion,  rebuke  the  deep, 

And  whisper  "  Peace!  be  still!" 
The  billows,  obedient,  will  die  on  the  shore, 
The  sea  sleep  in  murmurs,  the  tempest  be  o'er. 


136 


STANZAS. 


"  LOOK  AT  T'OTHER  SIDE.'7 

When  Jim,  one  day,  with  brother  Joe, 
A  simple,  thoughtless  clown; 
With  father's  leave,  set  out  to  go 
And  see  the  shows  in  town: 

It  chanced,  with  idly  gaping  round, 
Each  wonder  to  descry; 
An  orange  fair  and  seeming  sound, 
Caught  Joe's  attentive  eye. 

Joe  gazed  awhile,  and  quick  had  bought, 
Whitb  haste  and  chuckling  pride; 
But  Jim,  a  youth  of  keener  thought, 
Said,—"  look  at  t'other  side!" 

Joe  viewed  again,  without  ado, 
And  questioned  well  his  sight; 
For  underneath,  half  hid  from  view, 
The  fruit  was  rotten  quite: 


137 

And  since  that  well  remembered  day, 
Whatever  doth  betide; 
Joe  ne'er  by  wrong,  is  led  astray, 
But  "  looks  at  t'other  side!" 

When  scandal  takes  its  busy  round, 
With  huge,  and  sweeping  stride; 
Joe  heeds  it  not: — with  thought  profound, 
He  "  looks  at  t'other  side!" 

When  fools,  arrayed  in  fortune's  smile, 
Are  puffed  with  haughty  pride; 
Joe  envies  first, — then  thinks  awhile, 
And  "  looks  at  t'other  side!" 

When  urged  in  dissipation's  maze, 
Corroding  grids  to  hide; 
Joe  views  the  bowl  with  loathing  gaze, 
And  "  looks  at  t'other  side!" 

WThen  sad  distress  and  care  are  nigh, 
And  faithless  friends  deride; 
With  humble  hope,  and  tearful  eye, 
Joe  u  looks  at  t'other  side!" 

And  when,  life's  raging  tempest  past, 
No  more  he  stems  the  tide; 
With  joy  on  yonder  shores,  at  last. 
He'll  view  M  the  other  side!" 
12* 


138 


THE  HINDOO. 


O'er  wide  Hindostan's  sultry  plain, 
The  raging  tiger  seeks  his  food; 
In  jungle-depths  the  savage  foe 
Waits  the  accustomed  hour  of  blood; 
Alike  his  views,  alike  his  aim, 
There,  too,  degraded  man  appears, 
Of  bigotry  the  abject  slave, 
The  child  of  ignorance  and  fears. 

Reckless  of  soul,  to  him  unknown 
The  Un create  who  spans  the  sky; 
The  power  that  fills  a  burning  throne. 
The  God  who  hears  the  contrite  cry; 
He  kneels,  but  'tis  at  Moloch's  shrine; 
He  prays, — unhallowed  is  the  prayer; 
The  altar  owns  his  midnight  sigh, 
}Tis  superstition  drives  him  there. 


139 

He  offers;  and  the  crimsoned  car 
Smokes  with  the  sacriiice  unblest; 
Curst  expirations  bathed  in  crime, 
With  rites  unholy,  stand  confest; 
No  tear  is  his  for  sin  forgiven, — 
The  wave  that  washed  ImmanuePs  feet- 
For  him  there  shines  no  ray  of  heaven, 
The  cloud  yet  veils  his  mercy-seat. 

Christian,  for  him  the  ethereal  bow, 
Glowed  the  bright  promise  on  the  cloud; 
Christian,  for  him  the  star  arose, 
Herald  of  mercy  from  a  God; 
Go  then, — to  the  poor  Hindoo  race 
The  Godhead's  wondrous  plan  disclose; 
Go,  tell  the  wretch,  of  pard'ning  grace, 
Tell  him  that  Jesus  died  and  rose. 


140 


ON  VIEWING  THE  GRAVE  OF   FRANKLIN, 


No  lofty  cenotaph  his  worth  attests; 

No  gilded  tomb  proclaims  where  Franklin  rests: 

An  humble  stone,  half  hidden,  meets  the  eye, 

And  marks  his  couch  whose  fame  can  never  die. 

The  traveller  here,  by  admiration  led, 

Thus  sighs  his  tribute  to  the  mighty  dead: 

"  Franklin  the  loved,  here  rests  in  mother  earth, 

Great  by  true  merit,  though  of  lowly  birth; 

His  mind  a  maxim,  plain,  yet  keenly  shrewd, 

A  heart  with  large  benevolence  endued; 

Now  scanning  cause  with  philosophic  aim, 

Ami  now  arresting  the  ethereal  flame; 

Great  as  a  statesman,  as  a  patriot  true, 

Courteous  in  manners,  yet  exalted  too; 

A  stern  republican, — by  kings  caressed, 

Modest,  by  nations  is  his  memory  blessed. 

Wanderer!  such  genius  to  an  age  is  given, 

To  prove  our  race  the  offspring  of  yon  heaven. 


141 


FILIAL   LOVE. 


Filial  Devotion, — dear  the  tie, 
That  binds  the  parent  to  the  child; 
'Tis  from  affection's  rich  supply, 
The  streams  of  bliss  flow  undefiled. 
What  youthful  mind  loves  not  to  dwell 
On  deeds  which  care  parental  prove? 
What  child  whose  bosom  doth  not  swell 
With  gratitude  and  Filial  Love? 
If  such  there  be — from  haunts  of  men, 
Quick,  let  the  guilty  wretch  withdraw, 
Fitter  to  guard  the  scorpion's  den, 
Or  wait  the  cruel  tyger's  law. 

How  tender  are  the  hourly  cares, 
That  with  the  mother's  love  entwine; 
How  holy  are  the  frequent  prayers 
The  father  pours  at  midnight's  shrine. 
Filial  devotion!  Gratitude! 
Emotions  to  the  bosom  dear; 
I  would  not  on  that  heart  intrude, 
Which  never  gave  to  you  the  tear. 


143 

My  soul!  and  hast  thou  daily  scanned, 
With  equal  zeal,  His  guardian  power, 
Whose  breath  supports,  whose  bounteous  hand, 
Unaided,  holds  existence'  hour? 

While,  day  by  day,  the  full  supplies 
Thou  need'st,  are  given  thee  from  above: 
Wilt  thou  not  humbly  recognise 
In  these,  a  watchful  father's  love? 
Recipient  of  Heaven's  liberal  store, 
The  pensioner  of  Mercy's  Throne; 
Wilt  thou  not  contritely  adore 
The  source  of  life  and  love  alone? 
Great  Parent,  while  I  intercede 
For  daily  food  to  strengthen  me, 
May  I,  with  holy  fervour,  plead 
Tby  quickening  grace  to  worship  Thee. 


M3 


6ffi'itlV^&&» 


•  V  VIEWING  TRUMBULL'S  PAINTING  OF  THE  DECLARATION  OF 
INDEPENDENCE. 


To  free  a  groaning,  bondaged  land, 
Inspired  by  right,  and  valour's  flame; 
On  freedom's  scroll,  the  patriot  band. 
Inscribed  Columbia's  deathless  fame. 

Immerged  from  toil,  and  crimsoned  war, 
A  nation  blooms  on  slavery's  grave; 
Her  starry  banner  floats  afar, 
Her  conquering  navy  ploughs  the  wave. 

While  robed  in  peace; — bright  valour's  meed, 
Columbia  walks  with  mighty  stride: 
She  ne'er  forgets  the  godlike  deed, 
That  stemmed  oppression's  haughty  tide. 

Though  envious  Time's  relentless  hand, 
Hath  nipped  the  bud  of  glory's  plume; 
Though  now  repose  the  sainted  band, 
Where  laurels  deck  the  warrior's  tomb: 


144 

The  pencil  speaks! — again  they  breathe! 
Again,  the  veteran  forms  aspire; 
We  view  each  patriot  bosom  heave, 
We  mark  the  glow  of  holy  fire. 

Enwrapt  in  awe,  we  catch  the  flame, 
That  kindled  on  oppression's  spoil; 
And  swear,  no  tyrant  foot  shall  claim 
A  rest  on  freedom's  natal  soil. 


145 


STAR  OF  BETHLEHEM. 


AXD  LO,  THE  STAR  Will  (II  THEY  SAW  IV  THE  EAST,  WENT 
BEFOHE  THfc.M. EVAVOELIST. 


O'er  Palestine,  the  beauteous  Star, 
Bright  stranger,  shines  with  mystic  ray; 
It  guides  the  traveller  afar, 
It  cheers  the  wanderer's  weary  way. 

FIRST   SHEPHERD. 

0,  Shepherd!  whence  the  peerless  gem, 
That  burns  on  heaven's  expanded  brow? 
Beams  there  Judea's  diadem, 
Returns  a  king,  or  conqueror  now? 

SECOND    SHEPHERD. 

No  diadem  for  Judah  burns, 
No  regal  sceptre  for  her  kings; 
From  spoil  no  conqueror  returns, 
No  pageantry  the  herald  brings, — 
13 


146 

It  shines  the  harbinger  of  peace: 
Israel  no  more  shall  weep  in  blood; 
It  bids  dark  superstition  cease, 
It  leads  the  Magi  to  a  God. 

FIRST  AND  SECOND  SHEPHERD. 

Star  of  Redemption !  from  thy  sphere, 
Peerless,  and  bright,  thou  wanderest  lone; 
Shine  on  our  path,  dispel  each  fear, 
And  guide  us  to  the  Infant's  throne. 


147 


THE  DARK  WAVE  OF  ERIE. 


'Tis   midnight,  the  dark  wave  of  Erie  flows  lone, 
'Mid  the  gloom  of  the  forest  that  shadows  it  round; 
The  slow-winding  surge  lends  its  deep  sullen  moan, 
And  the  rock-beating  billow  remurmurs  the  sound. 

'Tis  midnight,  and  see,  'mid  the  gleam  of  the  wave, 
Where  'neath  the  cold  ray  their  sad  vigils  they  keep; 
In  the  mists  of  the  foaming,  the  souls  of  the  brave, 
As  all  lonely,  they  march  o'er  the  cliff  of  the  deep. 

"Tis  midnight;  they  tell  when  the  thunder  of  war, 
Proclaimed  the  approach  of  the  dark  battle  fray,* 
When  the  shrill-blast  and  death-drum,  rolled  deeply  and 

far, 
While  the  angel  of  blood  hovered  high  o'er  his  prey. 

*  The  memorable  10th  of  September,  1813. 


148 

Look  afar, — 'tis  hope's  symbol,  the  flag  of  the  free  ! 
Through  the  red  cloud  it  gleams  on  the   war-wounded 

mast; 
Proud  stripes !  soon  to  wave  o'er  the  broad-crested  sea, 
Bright  pledge  of  the  future,  the  pride  of  the  past. 

The  tall  barks  in  conflict  ensulphured,  have  neared, 
Death  gleams  on  the  blade  as  they  charge  on  the  foe; 
Hark,  'tis  the  glad  shout  of  valour  and  victory  heard, 
Columbia,  thy  foemen  in  battle  are  low ! 


'Neath  the  dark  waves  of  Erie  now  slumber  the  brave, 

In  the  deep  bed  of  waters,  forever,  they  rest; 

The  proud   wreaths   of  freedom   have  bannered  their 

grave, 
The  souls  of  the  heroes  in  memory  are  blest. 


149 


STANZAS. 


What  heart  that  Hope  hath  not  misled 
In  fancy's  early  dream? 
Who  hath  not  revelled  in  the  sweets 
Of  childhood's  careless  day. 

'Tis  painful,  mid  the  wreck  of  time 
Eternally  gone  by, 
To  scan  the  bliss  of  other  years, 
Bliss,  that  shall  ne'er  return. 

To  some,  existence  is  a  sea         % 
Of  calm,  unruffled  joy: 
To  others,  'tis  a  troubled  deep 
Of  wretchedness  and  tears. 

For  me,  awaits  no  airy  dream, 
Of  pure  unclouded  joy; 
Anticipation  dims  my  way, 
And  retrospection  grieves. 
13* 


150 

And  what  is  Earth? — a  wildering  maze, 
Alluring,  yet  untrue; 
The  heir  of  hope  may  smile, — the  child 
Of  misery  may  die. 

To  him,  by  secret  wo  oppressed, 
The  world  bestows  no  sigh; 
Ne'er  smooths  his  pillow,  or  bedews 
His  unobtrusive  grave ; 

Yet  there  are  those  that  keenly  feel 
The  wounds  a  friend  endures; 
The  griefs  their  own  sad  hearts  have  known 
Excite  kind  sympathy. 

I  ask  not  for  the  false  lament 
Wealth's  minion  would  bestow; 
Give  me,  in  life's  expiring  pang. 
That  tear  of  povertv. 


151 


LINES, 


IN  MEMORY  OF  WILLIAM  HASLETT,  OF  PHILADELPHIA, 

WHO  DIED  AT  WOODVILLE,  MISS.  JULY,  1821. 


How  calm  the  slumbers  of  the  dead, 
Where  God  protects  the  hallowed  clay; 
Religion  consecrates  the  bed, 
Where  they  await  the  Saviour's  day. 
They  rest  in  hope,  though  seen  no  more, 
Memory  their  virtues  shall  renew; 
From  time's  rough  billow  freed,  the  shore 
Is  theirs,  where  all  is  brightly  true. 
Servant  of  Christ!  the  meed  divine 
That  crowns  the  just  when  life  hath  run, 
The  wreath  of  deathless  love  is  thine, 
The  plaudit  of  thy  God — "  well  done!" 
Borne  on  affliction's  stormy  deep, 
The  path  thy  Saviour  trod  before, 
'Tvvas  thine  in  solitude  to  weep, 
Yet  lowly,  meekJy  to  adore. 


152 

In  foreign  climes,  when  far  away 
From  those  whose  solace  could  befriend, 
Faith  trusted  the  Immortal  Stay, 
Who  said,  "  I'm  with  you  to  the  end:" 
And  when  thy  offspring  met  their  God, 
The  father  wept  upon  the  dust; 
The  Christian,  humbled  'neath  the  rod, 
Confessed  Jehovah's  dealings  just. 
Servant  of  Christ,  the  night  of  gloom, 
That,  cheerless,  gathered  o'er  thy  brow, 
Awoke  the  day-spring  of  the  tomb, 
Which  brightly  breaks  upon  thee  now. 


i  53 


TO 


THE  SPANISH  PATRIOTS. 


Patriots,  rise!  Ye  warriors  brave, 
Now  assert  proud  Freedom's  cause; 
Dare  be  free,  and  dare  to  save 
Country,  home,  and  sacred  laws. 

Chieftains  arm,  for  fight  prepare, 
See — advance  the  dastard  foe; 
Freemen  rise,  the  battle  share, 
Soon  the  tyrant  shall  be  low. 

Hark,  the  clarion's  warlike  strain. 
Bids  the  hero  rush  to  arms; 
Freedom  calls,  'tis  not  in  vain, 
Victory  now  the  foe  disarms. 


154 

'Tisthe  cause  alone  of  heaven, 
Who  shall  dare  oppose  its  will? 
Freedom's  empire,  here  is  given, 
Freedom  here  shall  flourish  still. 

Onward  then,  ye  warriors  lead, 
On  to  victory  and  the  foe; 
For  your  country  dare  to  bleed, 
Soon  the  tyrant  shall  be  low. 

March  1818. 


155 


WHEN  DARKNESS,  LORD. 


When  darkness,  Lord,  had  erst  its  seat 
Throned  on  the  world  which  thou  hadst  made, 
In  ruins  at  the  apostate's  feet, 
Thy  ransomed  heritage  was  laid: 
With  nations  that  confessed  thee  not, 
Thy  people,  once  thy  chosen,  dwelt; 
With  Edom,  Israel  cast  her  lot, 
And  at  unhallowed  altars  knelt, — 

'Till,  with  restoring  beams,  the  Star 
Of  righteousness,  in  beauty  rose, 
Scattering  the  murky  shades  afar, 
And  bidding  night's  long  empire  close. 
Blest  star!  while  with  prophetic  eye, 
The  Bethlehemite  hailed  thee  divine, 
Say,  could  his  warmest  hope  descry 
The  blrss  of  which  thou  wast  the  sign? 


156 

While  'nighted  in  the  depths  of  sin, 
By  strong  temptation  led  astray; 
Weary  and  worn  with  guilt  within, 
We  ask  some  cheering,  friendly  ray; 
Star  of  the  wanderer!  though  in  tears 
We,  frail  and  helpless,  turn  to  thee, 
Hope,  kindling,  dissipates  our  fears, 
For  thou  wilt  lead  to  Calvary. 

1821. 


167 


TO  AN  INFANT, 


WHOSE  >IOTHER  DIED  A  FEW  HOURS  AFTER   ITS    BIRTH. 


Tender  infant,  sorrow  greets  thee, 
Sad  affliction  waits  thee  here; 
No  glad  mother's  smile  can  meet  thee, 
No  fond  mother  check  the  tear. 

Here  maternal  love  can  never 
Watch  thy  steps  with  anxious  care; 
Ne'er  with  sweet  emotions  ever, 
In  thy  artless  raptures  share. 

Cold  she  sleeps,  nor  heeds  thy  plaining. 
Heeds  not  sorrows  which  we  see; 
Dull  the  ear  that  heard  thee  moaning. 
Closed  the  eyes  that  wept  on  thee. 

Scarce  thy  tender  form  caressing, 
'Tis  a  voice  that  calls  away, — 
Calls  her  from  the  new  born  blessing, 
To  eternal  blooming  day. 
14 


158 

But,  though  thus  by  her  forsaken, 
God  thy  parent  still  will  be; 
With  support,  and  love  unshaken, 
He  will  prove  a  friend  to  thee. 

And  though  now  the  happy  spirit, 
Through  affliction's  stormy  flood, 
Hath,  pure  glories  to  inherit, 
Fled  away  and  met  its  God: 

Yet,  what  consolation  given, 
Let  us  for  the  hope  adore, 
On  the  peaceful  shores  of  heaven, 
We  shall  meet  to  part  no  more. 

There,  in  sweet  communion  ever, 
Shall  we  taste  celestial  joy; 
Joined  again,  no  more  to  sever, 
Love  and  praise  our  blest  employ, 

June,  1819. 


15{) 


THE  SANDWICH  ISLANDS. 


O'er  Islands  of  the  Southern  Sea, 
Long  had  the  night  of  discord  hung; 
Atooi  wept,  and  cruelty 
Her  mantle  o'er  Owhyhee  ilung; 
Till  He  whose  right  it  is  to  reign, 
Arose  and  walked  the  heathen  shore; 
Destroyed  the  Taboo's  bloody  stain, 
And  bade  the  Moreeah  be  no  more. 

The  priest  the  broken  shrine  hath  left, 

Enchantment's  fearful  spell  hath  gone; 

The  pagan,  of  his  god  bereft, 

Worships  Akoaah  alone; 

What  arm  the  Moreeah  shall  renew, 

With  temples  to  the  living  God? 

The  sacrifice  is  o'er,  but  who 

Shall  tell  the  wretch  of  pardoning  blood? 


160 

Lo !  on  the  bosom  of  the  wave, 

A  barque  appears;  in  gallant  state 

She  comes,  from  guilt  and  thrall  to  save; 

Redemption  is  her  precious  freight; 

Rejoice,  Pacific!  for  the  day 

Hath  beamed  on  those  that  woke  to  weep. 

Thine  islands  burn,  beneath  the  ray, 

Bright  gems  upon  the  circling  deep. 


161 


THE  CAROLINIAN 


Beside  the  stream,  the  grief-worn  pilgrim  stood, 
Dark  care  had  marked  the  stranger  for  its  own; 
His  saddened  glance  surveyed  the  murmuring  flood, 
And  now  forgot,  the  wanderer  wept  alone. 


The  scenes  of  childhood  met  his  wistful  gaze, 
'Twas  recollection  bade  the  tear  to  flow, — 
His  harp  that  slumbered  long,  re  woke  its  lays, 
And  thus  the  wild  note  breathed  the  minstrel's  wo. 


"  Where  dark- waved  Santee  winds  its  devious  way, 
In  rural  grandeur  ^mid  the  verdant  lawn; 
Where  heath-bells  bloom,  and  ivied  tendrils  stray, 
And  flowerets  glisten  with  the  tears  of  morn: 
14* 


462 

"  'Twas  there,  while  pleasure  lent  its  charms  to  youth. 
And  all  was  halcyon  bliss,  I  saw — and  loved, — 
The  Carolinian  heard  my  vows  of  truth, 
The  Carolinian's  throbbing  heart  approved. 

i 

"  'Twas  there,  when  evening's  mildly  chastened  beam, 
Like  early  love,  looked  gently  out  and  smiled, 
We  wandered  thoughtful,  while  the  saddening  gleam 
Hallowed  with  deeper  shade  the  rustic  wild. 


"  0,  is  there  not  a  time  when  fancy  leaves 
Her  wonted  course,  and  wildly  soars  away; 
When  thought  is  rife,  and  cruel  memory  breathes 
In  misery's  ear  the  joys  of  childhood's  day? 


"  'Tis  past; — but  when  the  warm  and  faithful  vow. 
Breathed  from  the  heart  and  faltering  on  the  ear, 
Half  trembling  told  what  well  the  maiden  knew, 
0  was  it  crime  that  then  I  knew  not  fear : 


"  Was  there  no  presage  to  the  bitter  wo, 
That  soon  should  rive?  did  not  compassion  sparer 
Was  there  no  source  for  pity's  stream  to  flow, 
No  guardian  angel  whispering  kind, — "  beware  ?v 


163 

"  She  sleeps — and  cold  has  gleamed  this  withered  heart, 

Since  first  it  heard  the  note  of  horror  tell; 

Its  idol  faithless, — 0,  that  fearful  start 

Was  quickly  o'er,  'twas  joy's  departing  knell." 


She  sleeps  in  clay,  and  'mid  the  fitful  gleam 
Of  eve,  'tis  said,  the  Carolinian  steals 
Along  the  surge  of  Santee's  troubled  stream, 
And  by  the  glimmer  of  the  red-bolt  kneels; 
With  arms  uplift,  she  deprecates  the  day 
That  saw  her  crime;  she  weeps,   and  quick  is  hurled 
away. 


164 

OCCASIONED  BY  THE  CONFLAGRATION  OF  THE 


ORPHAN  ASYLUM, 


AT  PHILADELPHIA,  JAN.  24,  1822. 


'Twas  midnight,  and  the  northern  blast  rode  high; 
Nature  lay  torpid  'neath  the  iron  power 
Of  chill  mid-winter.     From  the  clear  cold  sky, 
The  stars  shed  quickened  lustre;  'twas  the  hour 
Of  brooding  silence,  heaviness  and  death; 

Hushed  was  the  Orphan's  prayer, 

And  hushed  the  holy  hymn. 

Say,  is  it  real, — or  but  the  unquiet  breath 
Of  fancy,  whispering  to  the  startled  ear? 
0  God  of  Mercy!  is  there  none  to  save? 
No  powerful  arm  of  blest  protection  here; 
No  kindly  refuge  from  the  burning  grave? 

'Twas  morning, — and  the  smouldering,  blackened  pile, 
The  throb  of  agony,  the  burst  of  wo, 
The  eye  of  eloquence,  the  Orphan's  tale, 
Spoke  the  proud  triumph  of  the  midnight  foe. 


16j 

I  wept,  and  long  I  wept;  yet  not  for  those, 

Dear  innocents, — who  fed  the  funeral  pyre; 

For  them,  escaped  from  earth  and  earth-born  woes, 

Their  spirits  wafted  on  one  car  of  fire, 

Why  should  I  weep?  No,  'twas  the  shivering  child, 

The  living  wretch,  that  claimed  the  pitying  tear. 

When  lo,  a  form  I  saw,  of  aspect  mild, 

Fair  Charity  amid  the  throng  appear! 

Her  magic  voice  bade  every  heart  attend, 

Her  influence,  sweet,  each  feeling  bosom  knew, 

And  soon  the  helpless  Orphan  found  a  friend, 

And  eyes  unknown  to  weep  were  moist  with  Pity's  dew; 

Again  was  heard  the  Orphan's  prayer, 

Again  the  holy  hymn. 


16(5 


THE  MYSTERIOUS  GOD. 


**  VEMLY  THOU  AKT  A  GOD  THAT  HIDEST  THYSELr,  O  GOD  0*  J> 
THE  SAVIOUR." 


God  of  judgment,  round  thy  throne 
Terrors  rear  their  awful  seat; 
Darkness  is  thy  rest  alone, 
Thunders  dwell  beneath  thy  feet; 
None  can  stay  thy  viewless  power, 
None  avert  thy  dreadful  rod; 
Creatures  of  a  feeble  hour, 
Who  shall  dictate  to  a  God? 

Blessings,  bounteous,  spring  from  thee? 
To  thee  sings  a  grateful  land; 
Sorrows  thicken, — Lord,  we  see 
These  commissioned  by  thy  hand; 
Secrets,  dreadful,  vast  are  thine, 
To  a  mystery  we  bow; 
Angels,  worms,  attend  thy  shrine, 
Dread,  inscrutable  art  Thou! 


167 

Yet,  though  terrors,  night  and  gloom 
Wait  obedient  on  thy  word, 
Though  no  cheering  smiles  illume, 
Still  we  trust  a  faithful  God; 
Still  we  anchor  on  the  Rock, 
Jesus,  our  immortal  stay; 
E'en  the  weakest  of  his  flock, 
He  will  never  cast  awav. 


168 


TO  CYNTHIA. 


Sweet  orb  of  night,  I  saw  thee  rise 
In  cloudless  lustre  o'er  the  plain, 
I  saw  thee  climb  the  azure  skies, 
With  radiant  splendours  in  thy  train. 
I  marked  thy  mildly  pensive  beam 
At  midnight's  still  and  hallowed  hour, 
I  watched  the  fitful,  lonely  gleam 
That  played  on  yonder  ivied  tower. 


Sweet  orb  of  night,  full  oft  I  love, 
When  every  care  and  toil  is  o'er, 
To  wander  'mid  the  silent  grove, 
And  there  the  Source  of  Light  adore: 
0  then,  how  false  all  else  appears, 
While  wrapt  in  awe  thy  course  I  view, 
And  see  thee  mount  the  starry  spheres, 
And  tread  the  fields  of  heavenlv  blue. 


169 

Sweet  orb  of  night,  when  I  no  more 
Shall  trace  thy  lovely,  mournful  ray, 
When  freed  from  earth,  my  soul  shall  soar 
To  scenes  of  blest  ethereal  day, — 
Should  one  loved  friend  bestow  a  tear 
When  all  is  wrapt  in  solemn  gloom, 
0  guide  the  maiden  to  my  bier, 
And  shed  thy  radiance  o'er  the  tomb. 


15 


170 


ARE  NOT  MY  DAYS  FEW? 


Hast  thou  not  treasured  the  amount, 
Ali-wise  Creator,  of  my  days? 
In  thy  dread  councils  are  not  few 
The  years  appointed  man? 

Soon  I  shall  lay  this  weary  frame 
To  rest  upon  its  native  bed; 
This  form,  the  worm's  unconscious  prey, 
Will  slumber  peacefully. 

Pleasure,  ambition, — ah,  how  frail, 
Deceiving,  will  ye  then  appear; 
Inscribed  with  luring  falsehood  all, 
AH,  0  my  God,  but  thee. 


171 

Why  then  should  folly's  passing  dream 
The  mind's  best  energies  control? 
Why  should  the  world's  vain  pageantry 
Allure  the  soul  from  heaven? 

Why  should  I  sigh  when  sorrow's  cloud, 
Gathering,  obscures  life's  little  day? 
When  disappointment  withers  hope, 
Why  should  I  weep? 

Teach  me,  my  Maker,  earth  to  priz< 
As  unsubstantial,  insincere; 
Draw  me  from  time,  and  bid  me  soar 
To  immortality. 


17a 


MY  NATIVE  VILLAGE. 


Hail  to  the  valley,  and  mist-mantled  mountain, 
The  scenes  of  my  childhood,  to  memory  dear; 
Hail  to  the  cot,  by  the  favourite  fountain, 
Where  simplicity  dwells,  with  affection  sincere. 

0  long  have  I  wandered,  a  stranger  to  pleasure, 

In  search  of  its  shadow,  self-exiled  to  roam; 

But  ne'er  in  yon  climes,  have  I  found  the  rich  treasure. 

It  dwells  unconcealed  in  my  own  native  home. 

How  often,  soft  slumber  my  eye-lids  enclosing, 
With  joy  to  the  streamlet  and  dell  would  I  fly; 
And  fancy,  on  scenes  of  affection  reposing, 
Dwelt  there  with  pure  transport,  but  woke  with  a  sigh. 


173 

O  dear  to  the  soul  is  the  secret  emotion, 

When  fond  recollections  its  impulses  move; 

And  sweet  is  the  tear  which  the  heart's  true  devotion 

Bestows  to  the  memory  of  infancy's  love. 

Here  fain  would  I  wander,  a  stranger  to  sorrow, 
Where  the  woodbine  entwines,  and  the  wild-roses  bloom; 
Confiding  with  heaven  the  cares  of  the  morrow, 
'Till  the  blush  of  life's  twilight  shall  rest  on  my  tomb. 

Hail  to  the  valley,  and  mist-mantled  mountain, 
The  scenes  of  my  childhood,  to  memory  dear; 
Hail  to  the  cot,  by  the  favourite  fountain, 
Where  simplicity  dwells,  with  affection  sincere. 

Ira,  1818. 


15* 


174 


TO  A  YOUNG  FRIEND,  WITH  A  POCKET  TESTAMENT- 


The  charter  of  a  nation's  weal 
Is  dear  to  every  patriot  heart, 
And  he  that  scorns  its  sacred  seal 
In  freedom's  flame  can  share  no  part; 

To  young  desire,  how  choice  the  deed 
That  crowns  the  wishes  of  the  heir; 
How  earnest,  anxious,  is  his  heed 
That  naught  shall  the  bequest  impair; 

But  dearer  than  the  chartered  scroll 
That  stamps  a  rising  nation  free; 
Dearer  than  riches,  to  the  soul, 
Is  the  bequest  of  Deity. 

This  guides  the  weary  wanderer's  way, 
This  tells  of  a  Redeemer's  name; 
And  he  that  on  its  truths  doth  stay, 
Shall  smile  when  worlds  are  wrapt  in  flame, 

1820. 


173 


THE  CROSS. 


Symbol  of  shame — mysterious  sign 

Of  groans,  and  agonies,  and  blood, 
Hail,  pledge  of  love,  of  peace  divine, 
From  God. 

Symbol  of  hope  to  those  that  stray, — 
The  pilgrim's  vow  ascends  to  thee; 
Star  of  the  soul,  thou  guid'st  the  way 
To  Calvary. 

Symbol  of  tears — we  look,  and  mourn 

His  woes,  whose  soul  for  man  was  riven; 
Where,  wanderer,  is  thy  due  return 
To  heaven? 

Symbol  of  empire — thou  shalt  rise 

And  shine,  where  lands  in  darkness  sit, 
On  eastern  domes  that  greet  the  skies 
And  minaret. 

Symbol  of  glory — when  no  more 

The  monarch  grasps  his  diadem, 
Thou  still  shalt  burn,  while  worlds  adore 
ImmanuePs  gem. 


176 


SHALL  HE  UNBAR? 


Siiall  he  unbar  the  gates  of  death, 
And  walk  in  renovated  bloom, 
Who  now,  deprived  of  quickening  breath, 
Sleeps  in  the  quiet  of  the  tomb? 

Shall  he  revive  to  dawning  light, 
Who  lowly  seeks  his  bed  in  clay; 
Burst  the  corroding  bands  of  night; 
Whom  the  dull  worm  hath  made  his  prey? 

Shall  he  regard  the  vernal  suns 
That  bid  the  lily  deck  his  grave; 
Or  from  his  last  cold  resting  place 
Start,  while  the  wintry  tempests  rave? 

Cease  mortal!  cease  the  idle  strife, 
Of  precedence  and  boasted  power; 
Cease,  till  these  add  to  fleeting  life. 
Till  these  retard  the  final  hour. 

Mat,  1821. 


177 


THE  MIDNIGHT  DREAM 


Gently  as  flows  Time's  noiseless  stream, 
In  fancy  steals  the  midnight  dream; 
Kindly  the  dear  delusive  power 
Enchants  the  soul  at  memory's  hour; 
How  sweet  the  retrospect  to  view, 
And  revel  in  bliss  that  day  never  knew. 

Then  thought  returns  to  scenes  of  old, 

The  deeds  to  silent  years  untold; 

Past  joys  like  shadowy  forms  appear, 

And  griefs,  long  departed,  renew  the  tear; 

How  sad  the  retrospect  to  view, 

The  smile,  the  tear,  that  infancy  knew. 

Then  wrapt  in  vision's  awful  gloom, 
The  soul,  indignant,  bursts  the  tomb; 
Heboid  her  quit  the  track  of  time, 
Prophetic,  she  seeks  another  clime! 
How  dread  yon  unknown  worlds  to  view, 
With  shades  of  the  deathless  the  past  to  renew. 


178 


WHAT  DO'ST  THOU  HERE? 


0  why  should  care  disturb  thy  breast, 

And  anxious  hopes  invade? 
These  cares  can  never  yield  thee  rest, 

These  brilliant  hopes  shall  fade: 
Say,  can  this  dross  thy  thoughts  endear? 
Say,  say,  my  soul,  "  What  do'st  thou  here?" 

Why  should'st  thou  prize  these  fleeting  joys, 
And  build  thy  heaven  on  earth? 

Ah,  soon  each  false  enjoyment  cloys, 
And  vain  is  empty  mirth; 

Tell,  can  they  bring  true  pleasure  near? 

Tell  me,  my  soul,  "  What  do'st  thou  here?" 

Why  should'st  thou  mourn  thy  lot  unkind, 
When  sorrow's  boisterous  flood 

Hath  closed  around  thy  'nighted  mind, 
But  brought  thee  near  to  God? 

Is  he  not  all?  is  heaven  not  dear? 

Say,  weeping  soul,  "  What  do'st  thou  here? 


179 


THE  SMILE  IN  DEATH. 


And  marked  the  mild,  angelic  aih, 
The  rapture  of  repose  that's  there. 

Lord  Byron. 


When  the  last  stern  and  trophied  foe, 
The  hoary  monarch  of  the  tomb, 
The  spirit  frees  from  toils  below, 
And  bears  it  through  the  valley's  gloom: 

I've  seen  upon  the  marble  brow 
The  peaceful  calm  'twas  wont  to  wear; 
Though  damps  had  gathered  o'er  it  now, 
Though  death  had  stamped  his  image  there. 

Say,  0  my  soul,  whence  is  the  smile, 
The  smile  that  lingers  on  the  clay; 
That  sweetly  doth  our  wo  beguile, 
And  checks  the  tear  that  grief  would  pay? 


180 

5Tis  when, — like  evening's  murmuring  breeze, 
That  low  and  mournful  steals  along, 
And  softly  sighing  'mid  the  trees, 
Blends  with  the  holy  vesper  song, — 

Celestial  sounds  glide  on  the  ear, 
Visions  to  soothe  the  soul  are  given; 
And  ere  the  golden  harps  appear, 
It  mingles  with  the  hymns  of  heaven. 


181 


TO  DECEMBER. 


Farewell,  December,  cheerless  as  thou  art, 
Arrayed  in  gloom;  thou  hast  for  me  no  smile; 
Thou  catist  not  whisper  pleasure  to  this  heart, 
Thy  aspect  can  not  life's  dark  ills  beguile. 

Farewell,  December,  child  of  winter,  stern, 
Nature  for  thee  weeps  in  funereal  gloom; 
Cheerless  the  trophies  that  adorn  thy  urn, 
Cold  are  the  rites  that  consecrate  thy  tomb. 

Farewell,  December;  and  with  thee,  the  year, 
Another  year,  that  ends  its  course  with  thee; 
Another  year,  dissevered  from  my  span, 
Lost  in  thy  dark  embrace,  Eternity! 
What  hopes  and  fears,  what  schemes  of  future  bliss, 
Have  sparkled  on  the  past,  with  fairy  gloam: 
Futile  those  schemes,  and  false  each  hope,  for  this 
Pricf  life  is  but  the  shadow  of  a  dream. 
16 


182 

Farewell,  December;  ere  in  frowns  again 
Thou  reign'st,  the  empress  of  the  howling  storm, 
Perchance  this  bosom,  free  from  secret  pain, 
Shall  rest  in  quiet. — This  unconscious  form 
Shall  pillow  sweetly  on  its  lowly  bed, 
And  know  of  grief  no  more. — 0  it  is  sweet, 
When  gently  called  by  an  approving  God, 
On  yonder  peaceful  shore  to  rest  our  weary  feet. 


1820. 


183 


STANZAS  TO 


Yes,  it  is  sweet  to  contemplate 
The  awful,  pleasing  hour, 
When  yielding  to  relentless  fate, 
We  own  death's  iron  power. 

'Tis  sweet  to  rest  the  aching  head 
In  yonder,  peaceful  tomb, 
Where  the  tall  grass,  around  the  bed, 
Luxuriantly  doth  bloom. 

And  0  when  by  the  world  forgot, 

I  sleep  unconscious  there, 

Will  not  some  wild  flower  deck  the  spot, 

Nourished  by  friendship's  tear? 

Sweeter  will  this  cold  bosom  rest, 
If  prized  in  memory; 
Lighter  the  clod  upon  my  breast, 
Bedewed,  dear  girl,  by  thee. 


184 


THE  FINAL  HOUR 


Farewell  to  a  world  of  pain, 
Sorrow,  sighing,  now  adieu! 
Scenes  of  toil,  of  labor  vain, 
Scenes  of  pleasure  all  untrue. 

Farewell  to  a  vale  of  wo, 
Chequered  with  the  tear  and  smile; 
Pains  that  bade  keen  sorrows  flow. 
Hopes  that  dazzled  to  beguile. 

Earth,  receive  me  to  thy  arms, 
Grave,  unveil  thy  kindly  breast; 
Dissipate,  ye  fond  alarms; 
Glad,  the  weary  sinks  to  rest. 

Severed  now  are  mortal  ties, 
Ties  so  tender,  once  so  dear; 
Holier  transports,  kindling,  rise, 
Soon  the  worm  will  banquet  here, 


185 

Saviour,  while  all  else  recedes, 
Thy  dear  image  still  I  see; 
Yes,  the  same  that  intercedes, 
Pleads  for  sinners,  pleads  for  me. 

Nearer  as  I  view  the  throne, 
God!  my  trust,  I  love  thee  more; 
Thou  my  portion  art  alone, 
Help,  0  help  me  to  adore. 


id* 


18G 


VERSES, 


On  viewing  the  ancient  Pear  Tree,  in  T street,  Phiu 

BELPHIA,  IMPORTED  FROM  HOLLAND,  1647. 


Thou  ancient  tree, 

Survivor  of  the  storm. 

How  dear  to  me 

Thy  venerable  form, — 

The  blast  of  years 

Hath  strewed  the  neighbouring  soil. 

While  thou  surviv'st 

The  whirlwind's  angry  spoil. 

Long  hast  thou  flourish'd, 

Liberal  of  richest  fruit; 

While  various  soils  have  nourish'd 

Thy  healthy  root. 

From  Holland's  moistened  clime 

Our  fathers  bore  the  prize, 

In  early  time 

To  thrive  'neath  western  skie?. 


187 

Perhaps  thy  shade 

Hath  often  screened  our  sires 

From  summer's  ray, 

And  autumn's  milder  fires; 

Beneath  thy  boughs  reclined 

Visions  of  ages  rose; 

They  saw  a  nation  free, 

Triumphant  o'er  its  foes. 

Perchance,  in  each  fond  heart 
Was  liberal  feeling  found, 
They,  too,  wept  sorrow's  smart, 
And  smiled  in  pleasure's  round: 
The  voice  of  friendship 
Could  lull  each  bosom  care; 
The  song  of  love 
Could  waken  rapture  there. 

Where  are  they? 

Thou  saw'st  them  disappear; 

They  sleep  in  clay, 

Forgotten  is  the  tear. 

And  we  shall  follow; 

Yes,  hoary  tree, 

Thy  arms  will  brave  the  blast, 

When  we  to  our  eternity 

Have  past. 


188 


THE  PIRATE-SHIP. 


Midnight  reigns ;— on  the  ocean 
Calmly  sleeps  the  starry  beam; 
Steady  is  the  barque's  proud  motion, 
Peaceful  is  the  sailor's  dream. 

Sailor,  waken,  death  is  near, 
Waken  from  deceitful  sleep; 
Sailor,  ere  the  dawn  appear, 
Thou  shalt  slumber  in  the  deep. 

• 
Lightly  on  the  riven  wave, 
Bounding  swift,  with  murderous  mein, 
Ploughing  o'er  its  victim's  grave, 
Lo,  the  pirate-ship  is  seen. 

Gorged  from  guilt's  infernal  womb, 
Lurk  around  the  savage  crew; 
On  each  brow,  the  fiend  of  gloom 
Stamps  its  seal,  to  horror  true. 


189 

Luxury  of  crime  is  theirs, 
Dead  to  feeling,  as  to  fear; 
Cruelty  each  bosom  shares, 
Banqueting  on  sorrow's  tear. 

Gold  their  idol,  to  the  god 
Nightly,  fearful  orgies  rise; 
Rites  accursed,  steeped  in  blood, 
Mark  the  human  sacrifice. 

Like  a  demon  ripe  from  hell, 
See  the  chieftain  stalk  apart; 
Hark,  his  voice,  'tis  misery's  knell, 
Joy  alone  could  writhe  his  heart. 

Dear  to  him  is  childhood's  moan, 
Female  shrieks  to  him  are  bliss; 
Mercy,  canst  thou  rear  thy  throne 
In  a  bosom  seared  like  this? 

Now  with  crime-accursed  mirth, 
Horrid  laughter  shakes  the  sky; 
Drunk  with  blood,  the  stain  of  earth, 
Join  in  fearful  revelry. 

Sailor,  waken,  death  is  near, 
Waken  from  deceitful  sleep; 
Sailor,  ere  the  dawn  appear, 
Thou  shalt  slumber  in  the  deep. 


190 


STANZAS. 


The  source  of  Charity  is  pure, 
From  boasting  ever  free; 
The  living  essence  must  endure, 
Drawn  from  Divinity. 

Superior  to  the  stores  of  art, 
Or  gifts  by  heaven  bestowed, 
It  consecrates  the  willing  heart, 
A  temple  meet  for  God. 

And  should  that  Power  each  wish  fulfil 
With  science'  richest  meed, 
If  Charity  be  absent,  still 
My  soul  is  poor  indeed. 

For  Charity  endureth  long, 
And  never  fails  in  love; 
Here  would  I  rest,  for  here  belong 
My  hopes  of  heaven  above. 


191 


O  WHAT  IS  LIFE. 


0  what  is  life  but  some  dark  dream, 
From  which  we  wake  to  sigh? 
Some  false,  deceitful  meteor  beam, 
That  sheds  a  wandering,  cheerless  gleam, 
And  brightens  but  to  die? 


0  what  are  fleeting  joys  below, 
But  cares  bedecked  with  smiles, — 
The  pageant  of  an  empty  show, 
That  fain  would  hide  the  latent  wo 
From  him  it  oft  beguiles? 


And  what  the  secret,  pensive  tear, 

But  kindly  dews  of  even? 

Each  drop,  pellucid,  glistening  clear, 

To  sympathy,  to  virtue  dear, 

Is  quick  exhaled  to  heaven. 


193 


RUINS  OF  TICONDEROGA 


Where  dark  Champlain  in  sullen  grandeur  rolls. 
Its  swelling  billow,  checked  by  iron  shores, 
Nature's  firm  barrier,  'neath  the  towering  cliff, 
That  rears  in  solitude  its  craggy  form, 
The  scattered  ruins  tell  the  scite  of  war. 
Lone,  dreary  spot;  dark  silence  here 
In  solemn  grandeur  reigns.     In  vain  the  eye 
Ranges  the  prospect  to  relieve  its  pain. 
Black  sterile  rocks  oppose  the  bounded  vision, 
With  the  deep  ravine,  where  sad  brooding  fancy 
Hath  ample  scope;  naught  specks  the  cheerless  scene, 
Save  here,  and  there,  the  moss-grown  fragment, 
Or  time-crazed  tenement.     No  echoing  sound 
Disturbs  the  scene  or  breaks  the  still  repose, 
Save  the  hoarse  scream  of  midnight's  lonely  bird 
Or  the  dull  moaning  of  the  surge  below. 


Vet  here  was  war,  and  once  stern  valour  kneu 
These  dreary  solitudes  her  choice  abode; — 
These  still  retreats  once  glowed  with  busy  life, 
And  preparation.     Yon  lofty  mount,* 
Now  lorn  and  desolate,  displayed  its  crest, 
Breathing  dark  vengeance  on  the  invading  foe. 
Here,  veteran  legions,  warmed  with  valour's  flame. 
For  thee  my  country,  and  the  rights  of  manhood, — 
Embattled,  formed  the  sure  and  mighty  rampart, 
That  wall  of  adamant,  a  virtuous  soldiery. 

Here  waved  the  chieftain's  plume,  and  here  thy  lion 
heart, 
Eccentric  Allen,  valorous  and  good, 
Beat  his:h  for  fame,  and  glorious  Liberty. 
How  swelled  thy  bosom  with  the  generous  flame 
And  eager  hope,  as  thought,  with  rapid  stride, 
Disdaining  fear,  and  hosts  of  boding  ill, 
Pierced  the  thick  gloom,  and  saw  a  nation  free. 


Now,  how  forgotten  and  how  lone  is  all; — 
In  honour's  bed  the  war  worn  chieftains  rest, — 
Forgot  the  din  of  conflict:  e'en  victory's  clarion 
Is  now  unheard. — Tliev  sleep,  and  we  their  offspring 
Blest  with  the  boon  that  virtuous  valour  purchased, — 
Reap  the  rich  harvest  of  their  blood  and  toil. 

•Mount  Independence. 

17 


194 

Ye  hallowed  ruins!  ye  retreats,  emvrapt 
In  saddened  gloom,  I  still  shall  ever  love  ye, 
For  ye  are  dear  to  freedom;  each  patriot  heart 
Shall  ever  kindle  with  the  holy  flame, 
Caught  from  this  shrine,  while  pondering  o'er  the  past 
It  yields  its  homage  to  the  sacred  soil, 
And  breathes  a  prayer  for  valour  now  departed, 

June,  1819. 


193 


THE   VIGIL. 


Tis  night;  from  beauteous  Palestine, 
The  song  and  minstrelsy  have  flown, 
'Tis  night;  the  priest  forsakes  the  shrine, 
The  holy  temple  sits  alone: 
Gone  is  the  boasting  Pharisee, 
The  prayer,  and  daily  alms  are  o'er, 
E'en  the  despised  Sadducee 
For  secret  frailty  sighs  no  more. 

Hushed  are  the  strains  that  bade  rejoice, 
Silent  the  weary  and  opprest, 
Lost  is  the  maid  and  matron's  voice 
For  Solyma  hath  sunk  to  rest. 

But  where  is  Jesus?  where  is  He 
The  man  afflicted  and  forlorn, — 
Co-equal  with  the  Deity, 

The  object  of  rebuke  and  scorn  r 


106 

No  follower  of  the  Lord  is  here; 
For  Him  no  eyes  their  vigils  keep; 
They  that  have  mingled  tear  with  tear, 
Forget  their  woes  in  reckless  sleep. 

Closed  is  each  ear  to  human  moan, 
Save  His,  who  wakes  to  bitter  care; 
Hushed  is  each  grief,  but  His  alone 
Who  weeps  for  man  the  midnight  prayer, 


197 


O  OFT  HAVE  I  WEPT. 


0  oft  have  I  wept  when  the  wild-wakened  strain, 
In  sadness,  has  murmured  of  wo; 
As  its  thrill,  gently  healing  my  own  bosom  pain, 
Bade  the  tribute  of  sympathy  flow: 

0  oft  would  the  gleamings  of  rapture  succeed, 

As  the  cadence  of  pleasure  has  stole; 

When  hope  fondly  smiled,  and  the  wounds  wont  to  bleed. 

Acknowledged  its  balmy  control: 

But  ne1er  is  the  thrill  which  awakens  the  tear, 
Nor  the  cadence  that  vibrates  delight, 
Though  melting  in  rapture,  to  me  half  so  dear, 
As  thy  notes,  lonely  bird  of  the  night! 

IV 


IDS 

While  saddened,  I  list  to  the  deep  plaintive  song, 
Memory  wakens,  disdaining  control; 
The  dim  flood  of  ages  rolls  darkly  along, 
It  comes  with  its  deeds  on  the  soul. 


Then  those  whom  I  loved,  by  affection  endeared^ 
Who  repose  where  the  tall  elders  moan, 
In  the  still  passing  whispers  of  evening  are  heard,. 
As  they  sigh  o'er  the  days  that  have  flown, — 

I  gaze  with  emotion:  I  gaze, — but  they've  fled, 
See,  slowly  their  forms  disappear; 
Naught  remains  but  the  ray  on  the  cold  heathy  bed. 
And  the  trace  of  the  last  lonely  tear, 


199 


IMPROMPTU, 


ON  READING  STANZAS  BY  GOLDSMITH 


,6-Whkx  lovllt  woman-  stoops  to  folly.'" 

Ah,  no!  Compassion  yet  imploring, 
With  balmy  lip  will  sooth  the  sigh; 
While  Pity  bends  with  look  restoringr 
The  hapless  maiden  shall  not  die. 

The  thorn  of  guilt  may  pierce  the  sinner. 
Repentance  will  succeed  the  smart; 
Religion's  holy  smile  shall  win  her, 
And  Mercy  heal  the  wounded  hean 


800 


O  WHO  WOULD  LOVE 


0  who  would  love  a  world  like  this, 
The  sad  receptacle  of  fears, 
Did  not  the  hope  of  future  bliss 
Like  suns,  break  out  and  gild  our  tears ? 
Can  all  the  worldling  calls  his  own, 
The  meteor  bliss,  by  pleasure  given, 
Cheer  the  sad  heart  that  weeps  alone, 
Or  heal  the  breast  by  anguish  riven? 

0  who  would  yield  existence7  day, 
The  boon  so  frail,  so  soon  withdrawn, 
Did  not  the  hand  that  leads  our  way 
Point  to  a  fairer,  brighter  dawn? 
Could  misery  ne'er  some  ray  descry, 
Beyond  death's  shadowy  veil  of  gloom; 
The  wretch  accursed  would  dread  to  die. 
Despair  would  shudder  at  the  tomb. 


sot 


wmw  ?Emmbjmm> 


b  how  canst  thou  renounce  the  boundless  store 
Of  charms  which  Nature  to  her  vot'ry  yields; 
The  warbling  woodland,  the  resounding  shore, 
The  pomp  op  groves,  and  garniture  of  fields? 

Seattle. 


New  England,  much-loved  theme;  in  thee  combined 
Are  kindred  titles,  with  this  heart  entwined; 
Country  and  home,  names  dear  to  every  breast, 
Alive  to  manhood,  and  with  soul  possest; — 
How  curst  the  bosom,  cold  as  Zembla's  snow, 
In  whose  recess  no  patriot  feelings  glow; 
Shame  on  the  wretch,  ne'er  let  his^name  be  found, 
Whose  soul  dishonoured,  thrills  not  with  the  sound. 

Say,  youthful  Muse,  how  glows  the  generous  heart,. 
With  impulse  rich,  unknown  to  languid  art, 
How  throbs  the  bosom,  warmed  with  virtuous  fire. 
And  kindling  zeal,  that  fain  would  all  inspire, 


202 

As  history's  ken  reviews  the  eventful  time, 
When  hallowed  Freedom  sought  her  genial  clime ;*• 
When  persecution  lit  its  tires  afar, 
And  meek  Religion  fled  the  unequal  war; 
When  Pilgrim  sires,  a  small,  but  fearless  band, 
Unfurled  their  banner  o'er  this  western  land? 
By  Him  directed,  who  controls  the  seas, 
God  of  the  tempest,  and  the  favouring  breeze, 
Their  little  barque  in  safety  ploughs  the  foam, 
And  now  they  gladly  hail  their  future  home. 
Fancy  beholds  them  tread  the  stranger  shore; 
They  lowly  bend,  and  grateful,  God  adore; 
The  forest  hears  a  sound  before  unknown, 
And  praise  from  savage  lands  ascends  to  heaven's  high 
throne.. 

With  laws  severe,  but  with  demeanour  mild',. 
They  rule,  the  patriarchs  of  the  savage  wild; 
The  fruitful  glebe  subdued  by  hardy  toil, 
A  new  creation  blooms  on  freedom's  soil; 
Fair  rising  towns  their  industry  confess, 
The  Indian  vanquished,  proves  a  Power  to  bless. 
Each  peril  crushed,  and  freed  from  every  snare, 
Their  ally  heaven — their  weapons  faith  and  prayer. 

Time  speeds  his  course,  and  sister-states  appear, 
And  arts  and  commerce  urge  their  swift  career; 

*  Landing  of  the  Fathers, 


203 

Rich  agriuclture  waves  o'er  every  plain, 

And  Ceres  views  a  new  and  vast  domain; 

Kind  Heaven,  approving,  smiles  on  every  toil, 

And  Freedom  hovers  o'er  her  native  soil; 

Here  at  her  altar  beamed  the  sacred  fire, 

Whose  lightning-spark  a  nation  could  inspire; 

Here  gleamed  the  brand,  whose  flaming  disk  displayed 

A  phalanx  firm,  in  her  proud  cause  arrayed. 

Here  on  thy  plains*  the  symbol  was  unfurled, 
A  constellation  beaming  o'er  a  world. 
Thy  fields  yet  stained  with  veteran  blood,  can  tell 
How  rived  thy  bosom  when  thy  children  fell; 
Thy  soil  encrimsoned  with  thy  richest  tide; 
Thy  chieftains  brave,  thy  statesmen,  wisdom's  pride, 
Thy  daughters!  aiding  in  their  country's  right, 
Thy  warriors  hardy,  patient,  but  in  figlit, 
All  speak  thy  love,  New  England,  for  the  cause 
Of  God  and  country,  home  and  sacred  laws. 

From  tyrant  chains  and  ruthless  bondage  freed, 
Secure  in  peace,  bright  valour's  richest  meed: 
With  every  good  that  heaven  doth  here  bestow, 
New  England  blooms,  a  gem  on  Freedom's  brow. 


*  Battle  of  Lexington. 

f  In  the  revolutionary  struggle,  the  daughters  of  New  England 
by  a  voluntary  sacrifice,  abstaining  from  the  use  of  foreign  luxu- 
ries, accelerated  the  efforts  of  their  husbands  and  fathers  in  the 
cause  of  liberty. 


204 

With  gracious  boon  kind  Providence  bath  blest 
Thy  favoured  clime  with  health,  enjoyment's  zest. 
Unscorched  by  torrid  heat,  and  sultry  blast, 
The  bracing  north  confirms  thy  ruddy  cast; 
The  glow  of  temperance  marks  thy  hardy  race, 
And  kindred  morals  own  their  honoured  place. 
Thy  sons  are  generous,  shrewd,  and  faithful  too, 
Thy  daughters  modest,  fair  and  ever  true; 
Free  as  thy  clime  thy  equal  laws  are  free, 
And  slavery's  scourge  a  stranger  still  to  thee. 
O  may  the  slave-ship  ne'er  pollute  thy  strand, 
No  Afric's  tear  bedew  my  native  land; 
Forbid  it,  heaven,  that  slavery  e'er  should  toil 
With  withering  curse  on  freedom's  natal  soil. 

Go,  Retrospection,  and  excursive  soar 
Where  thickening  towns  adorn  the  sea-girt  shore; 
See  clustering  hamlets  strew  the  verdant  plains, 
And  thriving  cities,  where  rich  commerce  reigns,- 
But  chiefly  ken,  where  near  the  spreading  bay, 
The  proud  Metropolis*  extends  its  sway. 
See  scattered  round,  a  fair  and  goodly  show, 
Far  as  the  view,  a  paradise  below. 
The  smiling  fields,  the  teeming  hill  and  dale, 
Twin  mountainsf  there,  and  here  the  humble  vale. 


*  Boston,  the  capital  of  New  England. 
f  Dorchester  heights. 


20o 

The  village  churches,*  and  the  city  fane, 
The  halls  of  sciencef  on  fair  Newtown's  plain; 
The  numerous  villas}  by  refinement  reared, 
Abodes  of  taste,  to  elegance  endeared; 
Fair  Prospect-hill,  with  Bunker's  awful  steep, 
Where  'neath  her  altar  freedom's  votaries  sleep. 
The  towering  domes,  and  lofty  spires  that  rise, 
Whose  portals  lead  immortals  to  the  skies; 
The  kindly  roofs,  where  manners  bland  reside; 
And  courteous  ease,  a  city's  boast  and  pride. 
Loved,  generous  homes,  where  opulence  combined 
With  ready  hearts,  displays  the  feeling  mind; 
The  lofty  pile,§  where  wisdom  oft  hath  shone, 
And  sapient  eloquence  hath  reared  her  throne; 
The  walk||  whose  elms  a  grateful  shade  disclose, 
The  Common,  wide,  where  Charles  romantic  flows, 
The  masted  groves,  with  whitened  canvas  spread, 
The  lengthened  piers,  that  rest  in  ocean's  bed, 


*  The  churches  of  Roxbury,  Dorchester,  Brookline,  Brighton, 
Cambridge,  and  Charlestown,  all  visible  from  one  point  of  eleva- 
tion. 

f  Harvard  University — at  the  date  of  this  institution,  1638,  the 
present  Cambridge  was  designated  Newtown. 

$  The  environs  of  Boston  are  adorned  with  numerous  country 
seats,  many  of  which  are  chastely  elegant. 

§  The  new  State  House. 

(i  The  Mall,  a  beautiful  promenade  surrounding  the  Common, 
which  is  an  enclosure  of  several  acres,  used  on  days  of  festivity, 
reviews,  Sec. 

18 


206 

All  meet  the  sight,  and  crowding  on  the  view, 

Fill  the  wrapt  mind  with  pleasure  ever  new. 

Here  all  is  seen  to  heighten  or  refine, 

And  wealth  and  grandeur,  skill  and  taste  combine; 

Wide  hospitality  extends  her  reign, 

And  kindly  feeling  dwells  in  virtue's  train.* 

Nor  are  thy  views  where  nature  breathes  delight, 
Less  fraught  with  charms  and  pleasing  to  the  sight. 
Fancy,  full  oft,  in  retrospect  would  stray 
Amid  those  scenes  that  saw  young  childhood's  day; 
With  roving  thought  the  favourite  spot  would  view, 
Where  'mid  content  her  earliest  breath  she  drew; 
Where  youthful  sports  beguiled  the  heedless  hours, 
And  halcyon  pleasure  smiled  through  all  her  bowers. 
Fond  recollection  decks  the  rural  scene, 
Nor  notes  the  blank  that  time  hath  cast  between. 

Where  dark-waved  Merrimack  expands  its  flood, 
Below  its  source  the  humble  dwelling  stood; 


*  The  country  around  Boston  is  the  admiration  of  every  tra- 
veller of  taste.  The  view  from  the  dome  of  the  State  House  sur- 
passes every  thing  of  the  kind  in  this  country,  and  is  not  excelled 
by  that  of  the  Castle  Hill  of  Edinburgh,  or  that  of  the  bay  of  Na- 
ples, from  the  castle  of  St.  Elmo.  Here  may  be  seen  at  one  view, 
the  shipping,  the  harbour,  variegated  with  islands,  and  alive  with 
business;  Charles  river,  and  its  beautiful  country,  ornamented 
wifh  elegant  country  seats;  and  more  than  twenty  flourishing 
towns.  The  hills  are  finely  cultivated,  and  surrounded  by  the 
hand  of  nature  with  singular  felicity. 

mouse's  ux.  gaz.  1821. 


£l>7 

The  scene  was  fair,  and  sweet  to  fancy's  view, 
Beneath  the  mountain's  brow  sequestered  too; 
The  moss-grown  rock,  majestic,  reared  its  head, 
And  frowning  darkly,  deepening  grandeur  shed; 
The  crystal  stream,  with  winding  course  betrayed, 
Its  silent  current  stealing  'mid  the  glade; 
The  beechen  tree,  the  favourite  spot  well  known, 
Where  village  sport  had  reared  its  simple  throne, 
Where  oft  at  times  and  scenes  when  all  was  gay, 
Blithe  pleasure  reigned  in  rustic  holiday; 
And  oft  when  twilight's  gleam  had  sunk  afar, 
And  in  the  west  appeared  the  evening  star,. 
Willi  minds  serene,  and  labour  all  forgot, 
Each  young  companion  sought  the  favourite  spot, 
The  legend  wild,  with  breathless  awe  to  share, 
The  jocund  song,  or  weep  the  tale  of  care. 

With  rich  content  and  humble  quiet  blest, 
No  brooding  envy  marred  the  hamlet's  rest, 
No  sound  disturbed,  save  when  the  echoing  stroke 
Amid  the  wild,  the  sturdy  woodman  spoke; 
Or  when  afar  the  distant  rural  bell 
Marked  holy  time,  or  sighed  the  passing  knell, 
From  village  church,  whose  tall  and  reverend  fane 
Rose  o'er  the  vale,  and  gleamed  across  the  plain.* 


*  The  churches  in  New  England  are  generally  distinguished 
by  lofty  spires,  which  have  a  pleasing  appearance. 


208 

Hallowed  the  spot !  e'en  now  with  awe  I  feel 
The  holy  dread  that  o'er  each  thought  would  steal 
At  Sabbath  morn,  when  mingling  with  the  throng, 
To  join  in  heart,  and  raise  the  sacred  song. 
The  vocal  swell  that  thrilled  the  chant  of  love, 
The  suppliant  form,  the  prayer  that  rose  above; 
The  warning  voice,  when  Sinai  spoke  alarm, 
The  strains  of  peace  that  whispered  Calvary's  balm, 
All  touched  the  heart,  and  drew  the  listening  ear, 
The  sigh  was  heard,  and  oft  was  seen  the  tear. 
The  flock  retired,  but  'twas  apart  to  pray, 
And  meditation  well  employed  the  day. 

For  me,  the  lonely  walk  possessed  a  charm, 
And  pleasing  solitude  could  care  disarm; 
And  oft  I  lingered  near  the  hallowed  ground, 
My  favourite  spot,  where  wrapt  in  thought  profound, 
I  wandered  sad,  beneath  the  elm-tree  shade, 
Where  grass-grown  hillocks  told  that  life  must  fade. 
And  oft  I  watched  the  mournful,  lengthening  train, 
In  funeral  state,  pass  slow  across  the  plain, 
For  death's  sure  arrow  found  this  calm  abode, 
The  man,  the  friend,  the  viewless  valley  trode. 
Around  the  grave  the  thoughtful  rustics  bend, 
And  oft  the  prayer  and  holy  hope  ascend; 
The  shepherd-pastor  sorrowing  tears  t'  assuage, 
Speaks  consolation  from  the  sacred  page; 
Tells  of  the  hopes  which  from  that  fountain  spring; 
How  Jesus  rose,  and  foiled  the  tyrant's  sting; 


209 

How  brief  is  time,  how  long  the  bright  reward. 
And  blessed  are  all  that  slumber  m  the  Lord; 
The  mourner  weeps — but  weeps  in  humble  trust. 
And  well  resigned,  commits  the  dust  to  dust. 

At  twilight  hour,  the  household  train  repair, 
Together  join,  and  meek  instruction  share; 
The  catechist  the  youthful  mind  employs, 
And  tells  of  Him  who  forms,  and  who  destroys. 
The  aged  listen,  while  the  young  explore, 
With  reverence  due,  the  page  of  sacred  lore: 
In  strains  of  Zion  each  devoutly  blends, 
And  now,  with  fervent  prayer,  the  holy  Sabbath  ends. 

How  blessed  the  scene,  where  piety  and  truth 
Unite  their  aid  to  form  the  rising  youth; 
How  blessed  thy  course,  New  England,  well  inclined 
With  precepts  true  to  store  the  tender  mind. 

With  native  zeal,  the  willing  bard  would  teH 
Of  primal  customs,  once  beloved  so  well; 
The  hallowed  day  of  sacred  fast  severe, 
To  plead  for  blessings  on  the  opening  year; 
The  well  known  time  of  mirth  and  festive  joy r 
When  care  was  lost,  and  hushed  each  rude  emplov. 
When  beaming  bliss,  and  in  their  best  array, 
The  distant  youth  the  annual  visit  pay. 
With  faithful  ken,  fond  memory  would  retrace 
Those  early  joys  which  time  can  ne'er  efface.. 
18* 


21U 

The  festal  day,  by  long  descent  revered, 
A  yearly  Jubilee,  to  all  endeared. 
On  that  glad  morn,  arrayed  with  seemly  care, 
All  worship  humbly  in  the  house  of  prayer; 
At  home,  assembled  round  the  groaning  board, 
With  nature's  gifts  and  housewife's  labours  stored, 
Arranged  with  skill,  from  age  to  eager  youth, 
They  reverend  stand,  and  crave  with  earnest  truth, 
A  kindly  blessing  from  the  Fount  of  Love, 
Whose  care  paternal  doth  the  act  approve: 
And  now,  with  keen,  but  temperate  haste,  they  share 
The  full  repast,  the  yeoman's  bounteous  fare. 
With  prudent  use,  the  cheerful  glass  goes  round, 
The  mutual  wish  with  mutual  hopes  is  crowned, 
With  church  and  country,  home  and  absent  friends, 
And  thanks  for  all  that  heaven  in  mercy  sends. 
The  evening  hour  invites  to  halcyon  joy, 
And  varied  sports  that  charm,  but  never  cloy. 
The  lively  dance,  with  ancient,  mystic  game, 
Where  choice  betrays  the  modest  lover's  flame; 
The  ready  jest,  the  mirth  inspiring  song, 
With  tales  of  old,  the  joyous  scenes  prolong, 
While  youthful  love  and  hymen  oft  delight 
To  join  the  bridal  with  the  festive  night. 

Such  are  thy  joys,  New  England, — such  thy  scenes. 
Simple  and  rich,  where  care  ne'er  intervenes; 
Such  thy  republic,  pure,  unsoiled  by  art, 
The  boast  and  pride  of  every  patriot  heart.. 


m 


STANZAS  TO 


Thou  says't  the  world  refuses  its  smile, 
Thou  art  soothed  no  more  by  pleasure, 
0  believe,  its  mirth  is  guile, 
Vain  is  folly's  boasted  treasure. 

Thy  early  friend  withdraws  his  love, 
Love  in  happier  moments  given; 
Trust  me,  mortals,  false,  may  prove, 
All  is  false — but  God  and  heaven. 


In  this  wilderness  of  tears, 
Where  the  wanderer  strays  unheeding, 
Would'st  thou,  torn  with  doubts  and  fears. 
Seek  the  path  to  safety  leading? 


While  thou  view'st  a  holy  law, 
Written  with  the  bolt  of  terrors; 
Would'st  thou,  trembling,  weeping,  draw 
Hope's  oblivion,  for  thy  errors? 

Hasten  to  the  mercy  seat; 
God's  red  thunder  slumbers  there; 
Hasten  to  a  Father's  feet, 
God  is  nearest  when  in  prayer*. 


213 


TWILIGHT  SONG, 


SUNG  BY  THE  SHEPHERDS   OF  THE  ANDES, 


Beneath  the  brow  of  yonder  steep, 
The  tints  of  twilight  fade: 
On  Chimberoz,  the  shadows  sleep, 
That  in  the  valley  played. 


Lorn  in  the  saffron  belted  west, 

The  star  of  evening  shines; 

The  dew  drop  steeps  the  plantain's  breast, 

And  gems  the  curling  vines. 


My  flocks  in  quiet  now  repose, 
Secure  from  nightly  ill; 
And  guardian  of  the  wattled  close, 
My  dog  is  faithful  still. 


214 

How  sweet  the  hour  of  peaceful  thought. 
How  rich  retirement's  calm; 
How  free  its  pleasures,  for  unbought 
Is  bland  contentment's  balm. 


In  this  sequestered,  woodland  scene, 
Fond  love  and  peace  reside, 
While  rural  health,  of  cheerful  mien, 
With  labour  doth  abide. 

Then  give  me  still,  my  mountain  air, 
My  flock,  and  shepherd's  nest; 
The  loved  companion,  these  to  share, 
Aad  I  am  truly  blest* 


215 


STANZAS, 


'OCCASIONED  BY  THE  LAUNCH  OF  THE  NORTH  CAROLINA, 

AT  PHILADELPHIA,  SEPTEMBER  7.  1820. 


Hail,  Carolina  !  peerless  queen, 
Our  infant  navy's  pride, 
That  proudly  rid'st  in  lofty  mien, 
Along  the  swelling  tide. 

I  saw  thee,  fearless,  quit  thy  bed, 
I  saw  thee  plough  the  foam; 
Full  gallantly,  the  Ship  of  Dread 
Descended  to  its  home. 

Columbia's  sons  begirt  the  strand, 
Her  youth,  and  manhood's  flower; 
Her  daughters,  too,  a  beauteous  band, 
Lent  magic  to  the  hour, 


216 

And  kindling  was  the  bosom  glow, 
That  hailed  thy  brilliant  name; 
A  terror  to  the  daring  foe, 
A  bulwark  to  her  fame. 

Long  may  thy  flag  protect  the  Free . 
Long  may'st  thou  walk  the  wave , 
Thy  deck,  the  field  of  victory, 
Or  freedom's  gory  grave. 

Though  Albion's  cross,  for  "  thousand  years,r 

Hath  floated  on  the  breeze, 

See,  where  the  Union  Star  appears, 

The  beacon  of  the  seas ! 


And  broad  shall  wave  that  deathless  sign, 
O'er  Liberty's  proud  steep; 
And  bright,  that  starry  gem  shall  shine, 
Along  the  foaming  deep. 


217 


TO  THE 


SHADE  OP  EATON. 


Spirit  of  the  mighty  dead! 
Foremost  in  the  battle  fray: 
Injured  Chieftain, — whither  fled — 
Whither  dost  thou  wander, — say? 

Thou  that  on  proud,  vanquished  Derne, 
Saw'st  the  starry  banner  wave; 
Thou  Whose  soul  could  danger  spurn, 
Gallant  leader  of  the  brave, — 

In  vision's  awful  night  I  meet  thee, 
Where  the  silent  shadows  glide; 
With  prophetic  eye,  I  greet  thee, 
Where  the  warrior  seeks  his  bride. 
19 


218 

Mighty  Spirit  cloth  the  wrong 
That  ingratitude  once  gave, 
Anguish  to  thee  still  prolong, 
Doth  it  wound  beyond  the  grave? 

No, — for  at  the  Eternal's  shrine, 
See,  the  glad  immortal  bow; 
Hark,  the  strain  of  peace  divine; 
Tranquil  is  that  bosom  now. 

Thou  forgivest, — yet,  0  ever, 
Shall  the  patriot  weep  thy  doom; 
Thou  forgivest, — years  shall  never 
Dim  the  halo  round  thy  tomb, 


319 


VERSES, 


OCCASIONED  BY  THE  DEATH  OF  MR.  CHARLES  WESTPHAL,  AND  HIS 
TWO  SONS,  CHARLES  AM)  FREDERICK,  WHO  WEHE  DROWNED  IN 
THE  DELAWARE,  AUGUST 30,  1821. 


We  have  seen  them  laid  in  the  tomb, 
Where  the  weary  no  more  are  oppressed; 
The  elder,  and  those  in  life's  bloom, 
Have  gone  to  the  slumbers  of  rest. 

In  the  morning,  when  hope  is  brightest, 
The  angel  of  death  hath  found  them; 
In  the  season  when  sorrow  is  lightest, 
The  billow  hath  closed  around  them. 

Let  Piety  guard  the  clay, 
Affection  hallow  the  stone, 
While  they  wait  the  appointed  day, 
When  Jesus  shall  call  his  own. 

We  sigh  o'er  the  honoured  head, 
Laid  low  in  manhood's  hour; 
Our  tenderest  tears  are  shed, 
For  the  blight  of  childhood's  flower. 


220 

0  surely  He  who  never 
Rejected  those  that  come; 
To  the  arms  of  Love  forever, 
Will  take  these  innocents  home. 

For  such  the  Redeemer  plead, 

For  such  his  life  was  given; 

And  He  hath  graciously  said, 

"  Of  these  is  the  kingdom  of  heaven. n 

Though  dear  these  objects  of  love, 
We  yield  to  him  the  trust; 
Compassionate,  he  will  prove 
The  guardian  of  their  dust. 

Teach  those,  from  whom  the  treasure, 
0  Lord,  thou  tak'st  away, 
Submission  to  thy  pleasure, 
Is  sorrow's  sweetest  stay. 

While  death  is  momently  stealing 
Our  joys,  may  faith  abound; 
And  grant,  Thou  Gilead  of  healing, 
Resignation  to  balm  the  wound. 


221 


STANZAS. 


I  HAVB  NEVEH  SEEX  THE  RIGHTEOUS  FORSAKEV. 

David. 


I've  seen  the  heir  of  guilt  and  wo, 
And  marked  his  wandering  eye; 
I've  seen  the  tear  of  anguish  flow, 
And  heard  the  mournful  sigh: 

Pve  seen  the  victim  of  despair, 

A  prey  to  want  and  sin; 

I've  watched  his  brow,  when  sternly  there 

Was  stamped  the  curse  within: 

I've  seen  the  lordling  roll  in  state, 
And  swell  with  bloated  pride; 
I've  seen,  when  at  the  poor  man's  gate, 
The  wretched  outcast  died: 
19* 


222 

I've  seen  the  youth,  whom  pleasure's  round 
Had  early  taught  to  stray; 
And  those  that  by  intemperance  found 
The  flowery,  fatal  way. 

These  I  have  seen,  but  never  yet 
Have  marked  the  child  of  prayer, 
Abandoned  by  his  God,  to  eat 
The  bitter  bread  of  care. 


323 


O  THOU  TO  WHOM  THE  FIRES, 


0  thou  to  whom  the  fires 
Of  poesy  belong, 
Whose  bosom  hope  inspires 
To  pour  the  youthful  song: 
Unhappy  bard,  forbear! 
0  quench  the  generous  flame, 
'Tis  but  the  torch  of  care, 
A  guide  to  want  and  shame. 

Go,  dream  of  by-past  hours: 
In  retrospect,  once  more 
Pluck  fancy's  gayest  flowers, 
And  revel  in  thy  store: 
Go,  seek  thy  native  cot, 
Scene  of  affection  free. 
Where  pleasure  cheered  thy  lot, 
Where  love  was  all  to  thee. 


224: 

Do  this,  but  never  tell 
The  heartless  world  thy  dream; 
Its  scorn  would  hope  dispel, 
Would  crush  the  fairy  theme; 
Do  this,  but  in  thy  breast 
Let  each  fond  wish  expire; 
For  sorrows  unreprest 
Are  his  who  loves  the  lyre. 

Full  many,  to  whom  was  given 
To  weave  the  magic  line, 
Have  fallen — by  misery  driven — 
Victims  at  avarice'  shrine; 
Lo,  where  the  fiend  Despair 
Gives  Chatterton  to  death, 
And  dungeon  damps  appear 
Where  Savage  yields  his  breath; 

Untimely  too,  thy  doom, 
0  White,  thou  son  of  song; 
'Twas  Virtue  loved  to  bloom 
Thy  sweet  wild  flowers  among; 
Yet  why  their  fate  unroll  ? 
Why  give  to  these  the  sigh? 
The  Muse's  fatal  scroll 
Is  big  with  those  that  weep  and  die. 


225 


NEW  JERSEY,   THY  BLUE  HILLS. 


New  Jersey,  thy  blue  hills  are  fair  to  the  vision, 
Serene  are  the  beauties  thy  vallies  display; 
Thy  streams  are  romantic,  thy  gardens  elysian, 
But  dear  to  this  bosom  thy  sea-beat  Cape  May. 

How  pleasant  to  wander  where  naught  but  old  Ocean 
Is  heard  interrupting  calm  nature's  repose; 
Or  gaily  to  mingle  where  pleasure  in  motion 
Attends  on  the  day-beam,  and  hallows  its  close. 

Sweet  Innocence,  beauty  and  fashion  uniting, 
See  the  votaries  of  health  and  good-feeling  appear; 
Gay  Wit  wreaths  the  bowl  with  rich  humour  inviting, 
And  Pleasure  is  queen  of  the  festival  here. 

How  tranquil  the  scene,  when  Atlantic's  proud  billow 
Sleeps  calm  'neath  the  moon-ray, — When  tempests  de- 
form; 
To  thought  how  majestic,  as  roused  from  his  pillow. 
The  god  of  the  waters  careens  on  the  storm. 


226 

When  "  deep  calls  to  deep"  and  the  surge  mocks  the 
mountain, 

When  the  voice  of  the  shrill  blast  is  heard  on  the  main, 

When  the  storm-cloud,  in  anger,  hath  opened  its  foun- 
tain, 

And  the  torrent  hath  deluged  the  valley  and  plain! 

Now  the  gale  dies  in  murmur,  the  waves  gently  bound- 
ing; 

The    moans  of  the  tempest  in  sympathy  cease; 

Like  enchantment,  new  beauties  the  prospect  surround- 
ing, 

The  heart  is  expanded  to  pleasure  and  peace. 

Though  thy  blue  hills.  New  Jersey,  are  fair  to  the  vision, 
Unnumbered  the  beauties  thy  valiies  display; 
Though  thy  streams  are  romantic,  thy  gardens  elysian, 
Yet  lovelier,  far  lovelier  thy  sea-beat  Cape  May. 


227 


TO  THE 


YOUNG  MEN'S  BIBLE  SOCIETY, 


OF  PHILADELPHIA. 


Christian  brethren,  heart  united. 
Banded  by  Religion's  tie, 
Who  to  climes  in  guilt  benighted, 
Send  the  message  of  the  sky: 
Hail,  all  hail,  the  glad  endeavour; 
Trembling,  ye  have  on  the  main, 
Cast  your  mite  for  God,  and  never 
Shall  it  meet  ye,  void,  again. 

Party,  here,  and  faction's  dream, 
Blights  of  concord,  are  not  found; 
Where  Immanuel  is  the  theme, 
All  is  holy,  equal  ground; 
Charity  each  soul  entwining, 
Kindred  feeling  walks  abroad; 
False  distinction  sacrificing 
At  the  altar  of  our  God. 


228 

Heard  ye  not  the  choir  of  voices? 
Deeds  of  love  in  heaven  are  known; 
Yes,  the  Cherub,  veiled,  rejoices, 
Brighter  burns  the  viewless  throne; 
God  of  Bibles,  thee  we  bless, 
For  this  pillar  on  our  way, 
Cheerer  through  this  wilderness, 
Symbol  of  the  latter  day. 

Western  wilds  of  Jesus  know, 
Mercy  gilds  the  Sandwich  shore, 
Riches  to  the  Hindoo  flow, 
Bleeding  Afric  weeps  no  more: 
Onward,  then,  ye  hearts  united, 
Faith  your  patron,  Christ  your  aim; 
Onward,  and  to  climes  benighted 
Spread  the  lustre  of  his  name. 

November,  1821. 


220 


TO 


Though  verse,  presuming,  ne'er  hath  told 
The  innate  worth  of  charms  like  thine, 
Yet  deem  not  his  devotion  cold, 
Who  offers  at  thy  beauteous  shrine. 

The  vent'rous  bard  that  oft  hath  sung, 
To  lull  awhile  some  latent  care, 
Is  silent  now;  his  harp  unstrung, 
No  more  shall  vanquish  fell  despair. 

Yet  blame  him  not, — the  starless  gloom 
That  bade  each  hope  in  midnight  flee, 
Is  o'er,  and  joy's  perennial  bloom 
Appears,  swTeet  girl,  in  love  and  thee. 

0  shall  he  ask  poetic  fire, 

Whose  bosom  owns  a  quickening  flame, — 

0  shall  he  need  a  magic  lyre 

Who  kindles  at  Amanda's  name? 


20 


230 


SONG. 


Mary!  could  I  watch  thine  eye 
If  it  beamed  no  converse  free  ? 
Could  I  love  the  balmy  sigh 
If  I  knew  'twas  not  for  me  ? 
Could  1  prize  that  ruby  lip, 
Seat  of  pure,  extatic  bliss, 
When  its  sweets  I  dare  not  sip, 
Dare  not  steal  the  envied  kiss? 
Can  those  accents  sooth  my  breast, 
Sweet  as  angel  notes  above, — 
Can  they  give  this  bosom  rest. 
When  they  whisper  naught  of  love? 


231 


THE  MARINER'S  HYMN. 


0  thou  eternal,  viewless  God, 
That  rid'st  the  stormy  seas, 
Thou  that  controllest  with  a  nod, 
The  billow  and  the  breeze: 


Thy  powerful  arm  alone  can  save 
Thy  children  on  the  deep; 
Can  bear  them  o'er  the  curling  wave, 
And  down  the  threatening  steep. 

Though  staunch  our  bark,  and  proud  her  way, 
Though  breezes  swell  the  sails; 
Yet,  Lord,  if  thou  art  not  our  stay, 
The  Seaman's  courage  fails. 


Be  thou,  0  God,  our  kind  support, 
Our  earnest  hopes  fulfil; 
On  the  wide  ocean,  or  in  port, 
Be  thou  our  anchor  still. 


232 

May  we  escape  the  dangerous  ground; 
And  while  thy  strength  we  feel, 
Help  us  to  keep  each  timber  sound, 
With  grace,  our  chosen  keel. 

And  0  when  near  temptation's  shoal, 
No  beacon  shining  far, 
Cheer  thou  the  Seaman's  'nighted  soul 
With  Bethlehem's  holy  Star. 


Jesus,  our  helm,  we  look  to  thee, 
Nor  shall  we  look  in  vain; 
From  quicksands  thou  wilt  keep  us  free, 
And  guide  us  o'er  the  main. 

And  soon, — life's  chequered  voyage  o'er, 
When  we  have  crossed  the  sea, — 
Grant  that  thy  crew  may  tread  the  shore 
Of  blessed  eternity. 


533 


TO  THE  NEW- YEAR 


Thou  new-born  year,  thou  span  yet  undefined, 

Portion  of  time,  anticipate,  I  greet 
Thy  opening  dawn  with  salutation  kind, 

And  would,  reluctant,  fleeting  guest,  entreat, 
With  us  sojourning,  yet  a  longer  stay; 
Or  wilt  thou,  like  thy  parent,  haste  away? 

Thou  new-born  year,  why  should  the  joyous  smile 

Of  reckless  riot,  usher  in  thy  name? 
Ah,  why  should  dissipation  e'er  beguile 

The  sons  of  men,  when  Reason  would  proclaim 
;c  Life  is  a  vapour,  mark,  it  quick  recedes, 
Eternity  is  near,  with  all  its  deeds?'5 

What  art  thou,  gliding  portent,  but  the  note 

That  speak'st,  though  dumb,  existence'  passing  knell 

Thy  warning  strains,  though  they  unheeded,  float 
Along  our  passage,  to  the  traveller  tell, 

M  Depart,  poor  pilgrim,  leave  this  vale,  unblest, 

Arise,  ye  giddy,  this  is  not  your  rest." 
20* 


Vision  of  future  days,  fair  blooming  year, 

Thou  evanescent!  soon,  alas,  thy  flight 
Shall  be  the  theme;  for  thou  wilt  disappear, 

Thou,  too,  wilt  slumber  in  the  iron  night 
Of  by-past  ages;  on  the  hoary  scroll 
Be  chronicled,  whose  page  none  may  unroll. 

Child  of  the  past, — herald  of  years  to  come, 
I  greet  thy  entrance,  for  thou  tellest  me 

With  accent  kind,  that  soon  my  reckoned  sum 
Of  months  will  be  fulfilled,  and  I  shall  be 

No  more  a  wanderer  in  a  sunless  way, 

Where  disappointment  droops  beneath  the  world's  cold 
ray. 


235 


O  THOU  THAT  PLE  VD'ST, 


O  thou  that  plead'st  with  pitying  love, 
How  large  that  love,  and  free; 
When  sad  and  wounded  here,  we  prove 
A  rest  alone  in  thee. 

Poor  wanderers,  tired  and  'reft  of  all, 
To  sin  and  bondage  sold, 
We  strive,  till  freed  from  Satan's  thrall, 
We  're  brought  to  Jesus'  fold. 

With  fervour  at  the  sinner's  heart, 
Thou  plead'st  to  enter  in, 
And  there  the  kindly  balm  impart, 
That  heals  the  wounds  of  sin. 

u  Open  my  sister  to  thy  spouse, 
My  love  is  ever  true; 
My  head  with  nightly  dropping  flows., 
My  locks  are  filled  with  dew." 


236 

Who  shall  not,  Lord,  with  love  adore, 
When  thus  Jehovah  pleads? 
What  bosom  close  the  stubborn  door, 
Wrhen  Jesus  intercedes? 

Enter  this  heart,  my  Saviour,  God, 
Subdue  this  flinty  breast; 
Shed  thy  renewing  grace  abroad, 
And  be  my  constant  guest. 


SS7 


rOl  THE    1)1)  ANNIVERSARY  OF    AMERICAN'  lNTiKFENUENC  t. 


When  the  birth  of  creation  proclaimed  to  the  skies, 
That  the  reign  of  confusion  and  chaos  was  o'er, 
Each  harp  caught  the  theme,  and  glad  notes  of  surprise. 
Commingling,  resounded  on  time's  viewless  shore. 

The  Eternal  beheld  from  his  dark  burning  throne, 
He  decreed,  and  the  thunder  confirmed  the  behest; 
He  spake, — and  the  smile  of  Omnipotence  shone, 
"  'Tis  good;  all  my  labours  are  perfect  and  blessed." 

When  the  bright  beams  advancing  to  Liberty's  morn, 
Through  the  portals  of  victory  proclaimed  the  decree; 
"  The  work  is  completed,  a  nation  is  born, 
The  tyrant  is  vanquished — Columbia  is  free — " 

Again  the  bright  cherubim  wakened  the  song, 
The  minstrels  of  heaven  with  joy  swelled  the  lay; 
The  glad  shout  of  triumph  was  heard  loud  and  long. 
And  the  plaudit  of  glory  bade  welcome  the  Day' 


238 

With  hearts  warmed  with  love  and  devotion  inspired, 
We  hallow  the  era  of  freedom  and  time;* 
With  the  pure  flame  of  union  each  bosom  is  fired, 
While  "good-feeling"  extends  to  the  free  of  each  clime. 

To  the  Chieftain,  whose  green  laurelled  fame  blossoms 

fair, 
Now  sainted  above,  but  remembered  below; 
To  those  who  on  freedom's  blest  altar  did  swear, 
Who  gave  their  rich  life-blood  in  battle  to  flow: 

This  Day,  with  emotion,  the  pledge  is  renewed, 
We  recount  each  bright  deed  on  the  field  and  the  wave; 
We  view  the  stern  heroes  by  carnage  imbrued, 
We  give  our  applause — 'tis  a  tear  to  the  brave. 

0  long  may  the  banner  of  Union  unfurled, 
Triumphantly  wave  on  the  ocean  and  shore; 
May'st  thou  flourish,  my  country,  the  pride  of  the  wTorld, 
The  home  of  the  exile,  till  time  is  no  more. 

*  The  Anniversary  occurred  on  Sunday. 


239 


JEHOVAH'S  LOVE 


The  eagle  on  its  mountain  height, 

Beneath  the  eastern  sky, 
Securely  views  the  source  of  light 

With  bold  and  fearless  eye. 

If  lost  in  glory's  azure  blaze, 
It  bends  a  downward  view; 

This  floating  disk  a  speck  displays, 
Minute  and  cheerless  too. 

Thus  on  the  mount  of  faith  and  prayer, 

Jehovah's  love  is  seen; 
Sure  vision  strengthened,  gazes  there, 

Without  a  veil  between. 

Then  dim  is  every  joy,  compared 
With  bliss  that  never  cloys; 

And  light  the  sorrows  each  hath  shared, 
When  matched  with  heavenly  joys. 


240 


WILT  THOU,  O  LOED. 


Wilt  thou,  0  Lord,  who  wast  enthroned  on  high, 
Ere  seraphs  bowed,  or  unknown  worlds  were  formed,- 
Wilt  thou  regard  the  humble  mourner's  sigh; 
Will  the  Eternal,  moved  with  pitying  love, 
Bind  up  the  broken,  and  with  tender  hand 
Wipe  every  tear  from  sorrow's  weeping  eye? 

For  thou  dost  walk  upon  the  whirlwind's  brow; 
Clothed  with  the  thunder,  Deity  comes  down; 
Dark  clouds  pavilion  the  Almighty's  form, 
While  with  the  awful  grandeur  of  a  God, 
On  flying  pinions  of  the  wind  he  rides, 
In  dreadful  state,  and  majesty  sublime. 

Be  still,  my  soul;  be  calm,  ye  rising  fears; — 
The  storm  is  hushed,  the  tempest  passes  by; 
Through  the  dark  clouds  a  radiant  form  appears, 
'Tis  Jesus  bends  to  hear  the  humble  pray, — 
To  contrite  spirits  he  is  ever  nigh, 
And  he  shall  wipe  all  sorrowing  tears  away. 


341 


WHEN  THE  ROSE. 


When  the  rose  in  Sharon  blooming,* 
Sheds  sweet  fragrance  on  the  air, 
Each  loved  tint  new  grace  assuming, 
Doth  its  varied  charms  declare. 


When  the  lily  'neath  the  mountain, 
Weeps  in  Hermon^s  glittering  dew, 
Pure  as  Kedron's  crystal  fountain, 
Shines  its  robe  of  spangled  hue. 

Fair  are  Sharon's  blooming  roses, 
Rich  the  lily  of  the  vale; 
'Mid  each  blush,  delight  reposes, 
Nectared  sweets  embalm  the  gale,— 

♦Solomon's  Songs,  ii.  1. 

21 


242 

But  when  Jesus,  Lord  of  heaven, 
He  whom  Saints  with  love  adore, 
Kindly  says  to  man,  forgiven, 
"  Go,  thou  contrite — sin  no  more — " 

Radiant  beauty  he  discloses, 
While  he  saves  from  sorrow's  doom: 
Sweeter  than  the  blush  of  roses, 
Fairer  than  the  lily's  bloom. 


343 


THY  KINGDOM  COME. 


Whate'er  invites  us  to  the  throne, 
Or  brings  the  contrite,  Lord,  to  thee, 
In  social  worship,  or  alone, 
Still  may  the  supplication  be 

Thy  kingdom  come. 

By  missions  let  thy  gospel  spread, 
Let  India  hear  the  Shepherd's  voice, 
Awake  the  nations  of  the  dead, 
Bid  islands  of  the  sea  rejoice: 

Thy  kingdom  come. 

By  schools  of  grace,  where  heathen  youth, 
Gathered  from  crime,  of  Jesus  hear, — 
Where  stubborn  hearts,  subdued  by  truth, 
Bestow  the  penitential  tear, 

Thy  kingdom  come. 


244 

By  tracts  with  inspiration  fraught, 
Blessed  messengers  to  him  afar, 
Who  'nighted  and  forlorn,  is  brought 
To  welcome  Judah's  rising  Star, 

Thy  kingdom  come. 

By  bibles,  sent  to  distant  lands, 
Thy  own  imperishable  word, 
Uniting  earth  in  kindred  bands, 
Spreading  the  empire  of  our  God, 

Thy  kingdom  come. 

By  all  the  prayers  thy  saints  below 
Have  rendered,  and  before  yon  shrine, 
Of  those  that  rob'd  in  glory  bow, 
0  come,  and  be  the  victory  thine, 

Thy  kingdom  come. 


By  all  the  love  thou  did'st  proclaim 
For  Him  on  whom  the  curse  was  laid, 
Who  meekly  bore  our  sin  and  shame, 
Grant  thou  the  plea,  for  Jesus  prayed 
Thy  kingdom  come. 


345 


THERE  IS   A  HARP. 


There  is  a  harp  whose  thrilling  sound, 
Swells  through  the  choir  of  heaven  above, 
'Mid  the  blue  arch  the  notes  resound, 
And  angels  catch  the  strains  of  love. 

'Tis  when  some  spirit  from  these  spheres, 
On  viewless  pinions  wings  its  way, 
And  pure,  before  the  throne  appears, 
In  robes  of  bright  ethereal  day. 

Hark,  the  glad  shout  of  sacred  joy, 
In  choral  numbers  loud  and  long: 
The  angelic  hosts  their  harps  employ. 
The  cherub  wakes  his  noblest  song. 

The  joyful  news  in  heaven  is  known, 
The  seraphim  their  voices  raise; 
While  the  redeemed  around  the  throne, 
Swell  the  sweet  symphony  of  praise. 
21* 


^4(3 


ON  READING  MRS.  BARBAULD's  POEMS, 


Barbauld  !  what  sweetness  breathes  along  thy  line, 
How  pure  the  offerings  at  rich  fancy's  shrine; 
A  hallowed  warmth  inspires  the  pleasing  lay, 
'Tis  Virtue's  floweret  strews  the  Muse's  way. 
The  heavenly  nymph  appears  with  added  charms. 
New  graces  win  us,  willing,  to  her  arms; 
Who  can  resist  the  fascinating  voice? 
When  thus  she  pleads,  who  hesitate  in  choice  ? 


PRAYER, 

WIIITTEX  Iff  A  5KAS0X  OF  PESTILEXCK.       AUGUST,   1820, 


0  thou  Unseen  Almighty  God! 
That  ruPst  in  power  alone, 
Afflicted  by  thy  righteous  rod, 
We  bow  before  the  throne. 

And  thou  wilt  never  bid  "  depart" — - 
When  our  frail  offerings  rise, 
For  thou  hast  said,  u  the  broken  heart, 
Is  my  own  sacrifice." 

With  earnest  tears  we  intercede, 
For  thy  paternal  care, 
And  self-alnsed  do  humbly  plead 
In  penitential  prayer. 


248 

Our  city  weeps  in  lowly  dust, 
And  mourns  the  hand  Divine; 
Yet  would  she  own  thy  dealings  just, 
For  judgment,  Lord!  is  thine. 

But  while  thou  rid'st  in  frowning  mien, 
And  hold'st  the  balance  true; 
O  God!  while  the  dread  scourge  is  seen, 
Let  Pity  triumph  too. 

Though  justice  is  thy  diadem, 
And  wrath  is  thine  alone, 
Yet  Mercy  shines  the  brightest  gem, 
Around  the  eternal  throne. 


249 


VESPERS. 


How  awful  is  the  note  of  praise, 
And  mingling  choir, 

While,  slowly  wafting  vesper  lays, 

Mortals  the  glad  oblation  raise 
To  David's  lyre. 

When  they  devotion's  impulse  feel, 

How  calm  the  hour! 
With  trembling  hope,  the  sisters  kneel, 
While  Music,  thought  from  earth  doth  steal 
With  holy  power. 

Richly  the  murmuring  calence  flows, 

The  impulse  given; 
With  cheerful  swell,  with  solemn  close, 
Draws  us  away  from  earthly  woes, 

To  dream  of  heaven. 

Sweet  is  the  requiem  for  the  dead — 

'Tis  Music's  sigh! — 
At  such  an  hour,  while  o'er  the  bed 
We  bend,  where  rests  the  peaceful  head, 
Who  would  not  wish  to  die  ? 


330 


TO   THE   SUN. 


Effulgent  Orb!  Parent  of  day 
Emblem  of  the  Eternal  Mind, 
Thou  hold'st  thy  calm,  majestic  way, 
In  grandeur  of  thy  own,  enshrined. 

Of  old  art  thou;  from  night's  long  sleep 
Chaos  awakening,  saw  thy  birth; 
The  Almighty  claimed  thee  from  the  deep, 
The  life  of  renovated  earth. 

Thou  saw'st,  when  journeying  on  thy  car. 
The  animated  tribes  appear; 
And  thou  wast  present,  when  the  star 
Of  morning  chanted  from  his  sphere. 

Thy  new-born  beam  on  Paradise 
Quivered  with  bright,  rejoicing  ray, 
When  the  I  Am  in  council  wise, 
Gave  Man  the  undivided  sway. 


2M 

Thou  saw'st  him,  conscious  walk  abroad, 
In  innocence,  in  beauty  free; 
Thou  saw'st  his  offspring,  weaned  from  God, 
Render  the  matin  vow  to  thee. 


Deeds  of  destruction,  dark,  and  deep — 
Dread  page! — it  has  been  thine  to  scan; 
Thou  hast  beheld,  when  heaven  could  weep 
The  madness,  perfidy,  of  Man. 

His  mandate  has  withheld  thy  course, 
To  sentinel  the  battle  plain; 
His  crime  has  withered  up  thy  source, 
When  He  who  lent  thy  fires  was  slain. 

When  thou,  like  day's  divinity, 
Climb'st  the  empyrean  vault  alone, — 
We  worship,  while  we  view  in  thee, 
The  chastened  splendours  of  the  throne. 

While  vaunted  empires  wax,  and  wane, 
0  Sun!  and  nations  rise  and  die; 
Thou,  undiminished,  hold'st  thy  reign, 
The  gorgeous  monarch  of  the  sky. 


252 

Man  glides  elate  down  pleasured  stream; 
Thou  slumberest,  tranquil,  on  the  wave; 
Man  turns  to  dust — thy  brilliant  beam, 
As  brightly  mantles  o'er  his  gravfc. 

Yet  not  immortal  thy  career, 
Thou  who  hast  witnessed  earth's  decay, 
Thyself,  dismantled  from  thy  sphere, 
With  planets,  worlds,  wilt  flee  away ! 


END. 


